The Dark Brotherhood Chronicle: Cyrodiil
by antihero276
Summary: Eight interconnected parts spanning the most important section of the history of Cyrodiil's Dark Brotherhood: it's potential downfall. Told through the eyes of several individuals of the Dark Family, including their relationships to one another. Final Chapter is up.
1. Part 1: Prologue: Start of Darkness

**First off, I will begin this with an introduction... a poor one im certain, this story is rather difficult to explain... it sort of game from a great pool of thoughts and ideas and poured out as one. I wrote this story of the course of a couple months, and the idea just flew off the top of my head... there were many inspirations to this piece, and I will explain many of them through the chapters. Now, this story will be quite long, but divided into eight interlocking pieces of greatly varying length that span the Dark Brotherhood of Cyrodiil as we came to know it. I have opted to show my own interpretation of how the Dark Brotherhood events, many of them we only heard of playing the game, while sticking (many thanks to the Oblivion wiki and many other sources) to the canon as closely as possible... to the point I have deliberately kept certain things vague and open to your own interpretation. Canon is one of the most important aspects, it will not go undervalued here. The rating on this story is there for a reason, I should warn you. I will not plunge this story into utter fan service, there are no Mary Sue's here... if that is what you want, I recommend turning away now. This is a tale of simply too many themes to be listed in the description, and every character I have done my utmost to make true to the game in which they were portrayed, while simultaneously taking many of them further, opening them up a little more for our understanding.**

**Now, I love the Elder Scrolls, and above all I love the Dark Brotherhood, particularly the Cheydinhal Family. They are perhaps the greatest thing in the already mind blowing series. I had never thought of doing a story about them, however... at least until recently, where it all sort of clicked together in my head. I've not written anything so... forgive the word, 'dark', until now... that is not to say the tale will be a solely depressing one, it will have many moments of humanity amongst our beloved Cheydinhal Family, for even murderers such as they got along as family, family of course being a key idea to all this. As I said, it all seemed to come together to me. The story was already there, it was just a matter of piecing everything together... and reading back over it now, I sort of shocked myself. I've written this in a time of my life where I have been perhaps the most lonely and isolated... and while it isn't fun to feel, I was able to put all my own thoughts, hopes, and feelings and pour them into this writing, a writing I am proud of. I was drawn to these characters of great evil, for they were written in spite of their immense cruelty as believable individuals, one's who valued love even as they murdered. Everyone in the Dark Brotherhood had a sense of belonging and self worth, they all complete one another.**

**Lucien Lachance, will, of course, be the main character of this story, but far from being the only one. Everybody else will appear as well and play their rightful parts in the events. Lucien is a gift of a character... a man of action and entirely devoid of fear as he serves his dark family, in spite of the threat facing him. There is simply too much more I'd like to write here for this introduction, but I have rambled enough, and can't really think of anymore to add. I will begin by giving you the prologue, a sample of the ideas I have, establish Lucien for what he is, and allow you to test the waters with it... any and all feedback will be more then appreciated and taken into consideration.**

**Thank you for your time... let's get started, shall we?**

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><p><strong><em>The Fifth Century of the Third Era<em>**

"So... so you see Mister Lachance, I have to do this... y-you know? T-to prove myself as a father... as a... I'm sorry. I've been so focused upon it, I didn't even offer you anything. W-would you like something to eat? To drink?

"A glass of mead would be most welcome, provided of course you have it... I have _indeed_ come a long way".

"Mead! Uh, yes I do, sorry, just a moment... if you'll excuse me".

"_I _am in no particular hurry."

"Right... right..."

The Breton man who had been speaking, one well into middle age, grey flecked into his otherwise dark, unkempt hair, rose from his seat at once, eager to be away from his unsettling guest, if only for a refreshing moment, and he departed the drawing room of the apartment as quickly as his legs could carry him, making his way to the pantry. He had only spent no more then a few minutes in the presence of the other, and had gotten terrible vibes from the dark man that he simply wasn't used to feeling... as though unholy power radiated from him, strengthening with each passing second. It was to be expected of course, he knew... what else _could_ be expected from The Dark Brotherhood? He had contacted them for a reason, had contacted them in a grotesque way that had horrified him... were it not for the desperation of his situation, surely he never would have had the nerve to go through with it. To desecrate the coffins, the body's, that he had, to pray to an entity representing what it did... surely it all required an element of insanity to do so.

Part of the Breton, in spite of fearing this instability of his mind, could not help but defend himself and his actions. He couldn't have been crazy... the deed was performed all the time wasn't it? Certainly it was according to gossip... nevertheless he had half expected his grotesque efforts to be a failure... never mind the shock of the dark, cloaked man knocking his gloved knuckles so respectfully on his door this very night, clad in that eerie, confining bodysuit type of armor. The armor, with all those buckles and straps running along it, along with the short-sword resting in his belt and that eerily shifting black cloak, had hammered the point home to the Breton as to what he was surely unleashing. He wasn't sure how his life could have driven him to this point, how anyone could be so very desperate... but perhaps it would be for the best not to start thinking in those terms, and to accept what he had resolved to see through, resolved to set into motion, lest he lose his nerve as he felt close to doing.

One thing was certain, he couldn't keep making excuses or fumbling for words in front of The Assassin, who had been watching him quite calmly, almost indifferently, in another world altogether different, from the shadowy depths of his hood, sitting comfortably in his chair, scarcely uttering a word. When he had arrived in the first place, he had introduced himself and after requesting an invitation to do so, made himself quite comfortably at home, hanging up his cloak on the rungs beside the door in silence. When he did speak, the man did so in a low, deathly calm and crystal clear tone that did little to put the Breton at ease, in spite of the surprising civility behind it. The man's piercing hazel eyes seemed to scrutinize the very contents of his mind, as if he had known the very words he was going to speak before he spoke them, and they merely amused him.

The occasional flickering of the candles arrayed on the floor and about the room had revealed the man to be a smooth faced Imperial... surely no older then twenty or so years. In spite of the visitors unexpected youth, there was something else to him the Breton could not quite place. A sense of maturity perhaps, even of refined politeness so many his age lacked... it was apparent from the first words he had uttered.

Politeness from a murderer. The idea was madness in it's self... but then, what wasn't crazy about all this?

Yet apart from an occupation, if it could be called that, and a name that by all means was probably false, an alias, given his knowledge that the name 'Lachance' was most certainly Bretonic in origin, the Breton man knew nothing of this shadowy other. Now and again the Breton's eyes had stole to the unsettling symbol etched into the armor of the Imperial's shoulder pad... that of a black palm print of an open hand... as if it had been pressed in ink, peering back at him somehow as it's owner did. The Breton shook his head in an effort to clear these images, images that would return in a few moments more clearly, and somehow succeeded. Resolving to hurry, recovering himself from the presence of The Assassin and reaching the pantry down the hall, The Breton opened it, rummaging around and finding the last remaining bottle of Nordic Mead in a rack that had been full not several days prior.

Lips tightening nervously, the Breton slammed the pantry shut and searched in one of the cabinets of the kitchen for a pair of glasses, finding them too and making his way back out to the front room. The moment he rounded the corner, The Assassins eyes were already rested upon his, scarcely blinking as the Breton settled back down in his seat opposite him. He tried to control the fidgeting and trembling of his shaky hands as he poured himself and his guest... Azura and the Nine Divines take mercy on him that this other man was his guest, their drinks. The dark liquid spilled from the bottle, and he filled his own cup to the brim without knowing it, spilling some onto the small table between them. The Assassin's eyes touched the spot of his mistake, the various viscous droplets, before moving back up to The Breton, to the Breton's surprise, his thin lips curling slightly into a faint yet evident smile, nearly causing him to drop the whole bottle. The Breton paused before filling The Assassin's glass halfway and passing it off to him. The Imperial took the glass slowly and gently at the same time The Breton had already started to drink from his own, sip by sip.

"Sorry I took so long", The Breton said quickly, placing the cork back into the bottle, laying it upon the table and taking his own seat. The hand not holding his glass, clenching it to be more accurate, was motioning to the room before them. "I still haven't gotten used to this place... it's not big, Anvil apartments never have been... but after having lived in an actual home for so long..."

"No matter. I have all the time in the world... so there is little need to apologize for such a triviality. You are quite jittery... understandable, but do try to relax yourself".

"Yeah, I know, sorry- I mean... alright".

The Assassin peered down at his own glass for a moment, then to the frightened brown eyed man who was trying to recollect himself and scarcely succeeding in the endeavor, a thin eyebrow arching as he rose the glass, but did not take a sip as his host had.

"I never drink without first proposing a toast", He informed his host quietly, yet his voice carrying like the wind throughout the apartment's parlor, eyes continuing to scrutinize the Breton carefully, a look of somehow subtle, veiled intensity that the Breton nearly averted his eyes from as if scalded by a branding iron. "If you be so kind as to join me. Might you have anything you wish to toast to?".

At once, the pale Breton stopped drinking, his glass already very nearly empty, and his arm froze for a moment before he too rose the glass with slow and evident reluctance, almost hypnotized by the others clear control over the room and all within it.

"A t-toast to whom? Uh... to What?"

The Assassin considered his cowed host for a moment, tilting his head slightly as if expecting him to make one, his gloved hand holding the glass perfectly upright.

"I see... then I believe I shall make it for us, to those who made this lovely night possible. To the Dread Father, The Sweet Mother who joined with him, and the Five their love sired in the Void."

With that unsettling statement of gratitude, one that The Breton scarcely knew anything of, save the all too familiar mention of a ' sweet mother', The Assassin finally took a drink from the mead, closing his eyes perhaps for the first time since he arrived, savoring the taste of the beverage. The Breton watched for a moment, his eyes flickering slightly, unsure of what to say or do... so he followed suit, taking another drink from his glass, but was unable to savor it so calmly as The Assassin could, his mind ablaze with thoughts as it had been for quite some time.

"Yes... the... uh, mother", He echoed a little distantly, having reached the end of his drink.

At last, The Assassin opened his eyes, peering back unblinkingly at the small man across from himself, and he lowered the glass and it's contents down to the table, continuing to sit comfortably. His tightly covered arms rose up to either side of the chair's arms and relaxed upon them, in sharp contrast to the rigid, statue-like host.

"Thank you", The Assassin spoke kindly, breathing a single time silently. "Nordic Mead is perhaps my favorite kind of all available in Cyrodil... I must remember to pay visit to Skyrim, one day... to see what other delightful beverage and culinary wonders they might possess that I have not yet partaken in... to say nothing of the intriguing tales of death and violence running rampant through that province. I apologize, sometimes I do ramble on. I came here for a reason... please, continue with your story Mister Bellamont, you have my complete undivided attention, I assure you."

The Breton was silent for a moment as he peered back at the languid Assassin, struggling to regain control of his thoughts and spit the remainder of his explanation out. He lowered his own now empty glass to the table, his fingers still squirming, and he forced them down onto his lap, balling them in an attempt to master them. While it stopped them from shaking, it did nothing to help the pounding of his heart.

"W-Where was I... sorry, lost my-

"You were speaking to me of your _family_, Mister Bellamont", That calm voice reminded him smoothly, falling silent once more. At last, The Breton seemed to gain some measure of control of himself, and he breathed deeply, prepared to continue. Perhaps it was the alcohol mushrooming through his system, or perhaps it was The Assassin's reassuring nature... but he found himself able to speak more clearly, and with fewer hesitations. His hands under control, he nevertheless intertwined them, leaning forward slightly, staring at the floorboards... but not so much at what lay upon them, reminding him of his guilt with their presence. Still, even this reminder was more pleasant then peering back into those scrutinizing overpowering eyes for longer then a quick glance.

"Right... you see... I- I have to prove myself as a father... that's the reason I require this Dark Boone. Three months ago, my wife and I separated you see... the courts of Anvil's newest Count and Countess thought it would be better to give custody of my boy to that... that... that witch. They thought he was closer to her... thought it would be better for him if I merely visited, got to see him for a few days now and again. Naturally, she gets control over when and how long that is".

The fear and shakiness in his voice had been replaced by the glowing embers of anger, steadily growing stronger, and he grasped desperately to the feeling, hoping it could override each other threatening to consume him.

"I mean... how in Oblivion am I supposed to raise the boy, give him the lessons he needs to learn to become a man, if that witch is just going to mollycoddle the boy all the time... he needs both of us, both of us to balance him out, both of us to teach him. I tried to tell her that so many time's, but she just wouldn't hear it! No matter how logical and rational I explained it to her, the bloody hag of a woman won't see reason! It's as if she doesn't even understand a goddamn word... all she'll do is control him, turn him into a... a... what is it those Nords always call them? A Milk Drinker, that's it... a weakling. A wimp. That she would get power over him like this... it's favoritism of women, plain and simple. These days it's like they get more rights then us men! How is he gonna survive out there in the world without me, without a complete family, when without me he'd never have been born in the first place! I deserve to be around him!"

"A difficult situation to be in, Mister Bellamont... and one I have heard a great many times".

"Yeah no kidding... you know, that's not even the real reason I needed your... your association, to take care of this. If it wasn't bad enough, this whole month, on each of the days I was supposed to meet the boy, that witch canceled them! Canceled them! Ohhh of course she had her 'reasons', her little excuses. So what if I had a bit to drink before one of the days I was with him... I never endangered the boy... I would die for that kid! I love him, I love him more then she does, more then she ever will, but nobody else can see that. I just... I can't take it anymore... the courts stalling my case for guardianship, her bitching at me constantly... her leading that kid down a road that'll just ruin him in the end. It's bullshit... all of it. I'm... I'm done with it. I can't take it anymore. You see... I heard... I heard things about you people... I heard what you could do... and I thought about it... Azura how I thought about it... I didn't know if I should... if things would get better on their own... I couldn't keep waiting... I had to act. I did some research into your kind... that's where I heard about your 'Black Sacrament'... that's how I learned how to reach you. I didn't think I could go through with it... but I did it... if their family's knew it was me... I did it. I said the words..."

The disheveled Breton broke off, breathing as if he had run a great distance, and he started to pour himself another glass... his hand froze mid air, and instead he grasped the entire bottle, drinking heavily from it.

As the Breton drank decadently, The Assassin's collected, calm eyes moved slowly sideways to the offering that had been left in the center of the room's floor, the carpets having had been pulled back to do so. The assembled parts and organs, some half rotted, others all the way decomposed to reveal their yellowing bones, lay surrounded by candles and fresh sprigs of Nightshade amongst the stains of rotting flesh, blood, and the constant buzzing of flies settling upon what remained, the stench known to him. The candles around the unholy shrine flickered dangerously back and forth, but never went out. The skull at the top of the offering, beside which rested the telltale dagger, grinned back at The Assassin morbidly, a small remainder of hair and tissue remaining, yet the eyeballs already rotted away. That exquisite stench long associated with the dead had carried all the way throughout the apartment long before his visit, soaking into the walls.

"Yes", The Assassin agreed politely, returning his attention to the Breton, who had at long last subsided, no more then a quarter remaining in the bottle. He was slumped forward his face in his hands, the bottle on the floor. "You most certainly did".

"And you came..." The Breton's muffled voice muttered helplessly, it's fear pleasing. "I have no clue how you could have known, how you could have heard me, but you came... and you're here, sitting in my front room, ready to rid me of my... my problems."

"Yes I am", The Imperial Man replied quite simply, folding his gloved hands together. "Our Unholy Matron hears the cries of those who need Her grand services... and Her children respond for Her. There is more... please continue".

The Breton shuddered, and withdrew his hands from his face, biting down on his lip, overwhelmed by anxiety... yet at the back of that, there was purpose, there was resolution to taking the course that he was... and The Assassin knew he would not try to back out of their arrangement, There was nothing more or less then obsessed desperation lurking behind the fathers eyes that he liked to see, a desperation that carried their trade. Eventually, Bellamont rightened himself, breathing deeply, sat back in his seat, and his breaths gradually became more calmly, the anger having died from his vacant face, he simply peered towards the closed window on the opposite side of the room behind The Assassin.

"On Fredas nights... the boy sleeps over at his grandparents you see... I've done my homework, even if I haven't been able to see him. On that night, his mother stays at home alone at our old cottage on the Docks... that's part of why I was surprised to see you. That you would get here this very night... you know... I guess you people would know what you're doing... hell, you've been doing this for years I guess. Century's. That's what I need you to do... I need you to go there tonight and... well... I need you to- that is... I need you to-

"Murder your wife".

Bellamont's attention returned to the Assassin, who appeared as relaxed as ever at the mention of the word, entertained, if anything else, his dark eyes more alive at the vocalization of the word. The Breton was silent for a moment, and then he rubbed his face resignedly, shrugging his shoulders.

"Yeah. Murder my wife", he echoed distantly, his voice quite empty. The air seemed to grow colder then the wind outside at the approaching Evening Star. "T-that's all."

"I see", The Assassin spoke again lightly, considering it for the briefest of moments. "You know... I must say, in this profession... there is no limitations of spouses wishing to do away with their loved ones... or hated ones. I doubt we'll ever have have a shortage of men and women like you, Mister Bellamont... you are doing your par to keep the cycle going".

Bellamont bristled at the statement, for the first time glaring intently at the unmoved Assassin, the anger flaring and flickering again.

"How... how dare you... You... you can't judge me!... You have no clue what it's like to... to... wake up every morning, knowing you have to face a witch slowly draing you of your life... squeezing away everything worth anything! Are you a married man Mister Lachance?", He demanded suddenly, expression hardening, starting to rise from his seat, a fist clenching slowly as he did so. "Are _you_married?"

"I am not", Came the deathly calm answer at once. "I am married to my work Mister Bellamont... I live to serve my Mother and Father... though that's not to say I don't enjoy the personal company of another. No matter, I am not judging you with my words, Bellamont, nor your personal affairs... I am merely quite the reflective individual who enjoys his ability to perceive... so you may take a seat. Your desire in contacting us is of little overt interest to me... I am here to perform the deed you cannot, provided of course you are capable of compensating me for said deed."

Bellamont stopped rising all at once, breathing hard again, trying to calm himself and took his seat almost immediately. Rationality filtered through the haze of his sudden anger... and with another glance in the direction of the Black Sacrament, he knew all at once what would become of himself if he even attempted to strike the young man before him. Nevertheless, The Assassin paid no attention to the blade at his side, nor was he perturbed is the slightest at the Breton's quickened temper... indeed, he waited with respectful, even bemused indulgence for him to continue.

"Ok... _yeah_... I got your money... enough to satisfy you and your... your mother".

"The gold is of little consequence for many of us, Mister Bellamont... certainly we take it to continue our work... to expand our resources, and bring the blessing of the Unholy Matron to all parts of Tamriel... but other then that, I rather like to think we do what we do for a purpose. Think of them as charitable donations to a higher cause... and you certainly would get more out of your money being sent our way then you would towards the churches of the Nine Divines, dear me _yes_. Now, before I depart, is there anything in particular you wish for me to do to your wife? Any particular method of death or length in which you wish her to languish in agony? Do speak up, you're far too quiet... when not first angered, of course".

His tone was light and conversational, as if he were speaking of the weather, and Bellamont looked away again slightly, nearly losing his nerve, and shook his head slowly, then reached into a pocket, producing a parchment of paper containing an address, sliding it across the table to The Assassin, who took it at once, glancing at it a single time, and stowing it away into one of the belts on the light armor hugging perfectly to his lean frame.

"No... no. Nothing specific... I... just be... be thorough. "

The Assassin extended his gloved hand forward again, grasping the base of his mead glass and raising it again, drinking it slowly, continuing to savor it. At last, in the ominous silence of the apartment, so much like the grave, he finished, and lowered the glass again, now empty. He rose from his seat silently, his shadow dancing upon the wall behind him, and he moved forward, until it enveloped Bellamont, upon whom he peered down at the disheveled Breton analytically, as if studying a welcome, pleasing sight.

"I can do that", He informed the Breton comfortably, and with this simple vow, he turned to leave, stepping respectfully around the site of the Black Sacrament, and crossing over the floor to the door, which he opened with a creak, the cold night air slipping inside like a silent interloper not entirely different then he. Before departing, he paused in the doorway, gathering up his cloak and the Breton looked up. The Assassin was no more then a living shadow, a silhouette in the doorway against the night sky and the light of the ghostly moons.

"You shall see me again very soon... probably before the night is through, so it might prove prudent of you to wait up. Thank you again for the drink and... _conversation_".

A wave of white energy, so much like mist, suddenly expanded from his arm, and a carrying ripple seemed to envelope The Assassin like a pebble being tossed into a pond, passing over the entire length and width of his cloaked and armored body in an ever expanding current. His limbs were swallowed into thin air, and soon his entire body followed suit, evaporating. Bellamont watched blankly as the open door closed it's self with a snap, followed by the faint sound of boots descending the small staircase and crunching through the snow until they too vanished, leaving him alone once more by himself.

Bellamont looked away from the door, and at the Black Sacrament, the proof of his guilt, emptily for the longest time, gazing upon the disembodied heart that had ceased to beat so long ago... so very much like the one that would soon join it. Without needing to think, his body reacted by it's self, grasping the bottle again and raising it to his lips and tilting his head back slowly, longing for the sweet ignorance and numbness only the alcohol could bring.

The bottle was empty.

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><p>Lucien Lachance, hidden from not only all the town's guards, most of whom were busily chatting to one another or the odd passerby, the active taverns, inns and all the others he encountered as he made his way to Anvil's docks, but his own eyes as well, contemplated the looming murder, even before it had taken place. It was always at this time, the time he walked to his target's final destination, that he thought about what it would feel like... how he would perform it. Sometimes he thought it out in advance how it should take place... sometimes he acted on instinct. It was enjoyable to keep himself from falling into a rut... and given the obvious simplicity of the contract, he had opted for a steel blade, forged steel at it's core, and lined with Silver. Tonight, he already knew how he would perform his kill... had known the moment the man had begun his story.<p>

Bellamont's story had been, ultimately, pointless to hear, and had it not been for Lucien's ever present desire to immerse himself into the experience, to enrich each contract as much as possible, as he had time and time again before that night, listening to the recounting of the man's troubles, he would have merely asked for the address and gotten on with it. There were few Brothers and Sisters back at the Sanctuary who were so blunt as this, and Lucien had, in truth, never been one of them, or even tempted to be for that matter. There was something truly wonderful in having a complete picture for each contract... to having not only a dedication for what he did, but to truly embrace each moment of it as it unfolded. The motives... the causes, the pain in the contract takers eyes or satisfaction, and the fact that he alone could carry out the next and final step in regards to this. The deliverance. True, there was something quite common to the murder of a spouse, but for Lucien, it held a rather special place in his heart.

To tear a family of insignificance asunder... and all in a single creeping stroke of the blade.

He had been taken into the ranks of the Brotherhood for a reason... perhaps it had been his enjoyment of the hunt that the Night Mother had seen in him... perhaps the fact that he would never truly fail a contract... whatever it had been, Her dark love that had birthed an entire shadowy empire had sent one of her children to him, and saw fit to grant him a new and better life, with others so very much like him who had his deepest affection... his love. It was so much more then an organization... it was a family far greater then any other. He honored Her gift with his own love and devotion, and with each life he took and presented on Her behalf, on behalf of the Father and His Black Hand... and the loving voice that had come to him in the night to bring him into Darkness. It was a life he had never thought would find him as it had... one that so few were able to have, a profession that not only gave him purpose, but satisfaction in doing so.

There were so very many across Tamriel and beyond who had striven for this contentment and clarity of mind he had achieved, and never managed to achieve it as he had at such an early age... he was grateful each day he awoke in the Sanctuary or somewhere in his travels, each day he was assigned another contract... each opportunity to send another to the Void where they belonged. The danger in being an assassin was far outweighed by the benefits... and if you were the best, which each Brother and Sister strove to be, even this danger could be minimized. There was a comfort, however, a great comfort, in knowing that any who was killed in the service of the Dread Father would have the honor of serving at his right hand in person.

The trip to Anvil had taken quite some time, Lucien had found, particularly with no horse of his own, he had been forced to travel entirely on foot to be safe, journeying each night until the dawn rose, forcing him to make camp and rest before resuming in this continuous pattern. Nevertheless, he very nearly knew Cyrodiil like the back of his hand, and the extraordinarily detailed map and advice Vicente had supplied had come in handy, as it always did. Dining upon Cyrodiil's wildlife and plants had become a necessity when his food reserves had run short... he would need to pick some supplies up before his return to the Sanctuary. Yet... there lay the reason for which he had come in the first place, a simple, wondrous matter to attend to... one he was very nearly at.

Passing through the districts, Lucien gradually neared the City Docks, passing more homes, inns and stores along the way. At last, stepping through another of the great doors dividing the districts, he came upon them, and with it, a more open terrain. The first thing he caught sight of, was not the lovely illuminated sky, but of the lighthouse across the bay that towered in it... the next was of the ships and schooners parked at the docks, their anchors dropped for the night. The cottages along the docks were not so cramped together as the apartments had been, and thus had more room to breath and flourish in their development, some as big as two stories. Lucien passed over the docks quietly, encountering no further guards, and moved up and down different rows of homes, many of their occupants very much asleep at this hour, anticipation and excitement, tempered by purpose, forming within himself with each step of his invisible silent boots.

There was beauty and serenity in everything in that moment: The creeping light of the moons guiding his every step, the stars above like an ocean in it's self, the scent of the sea's black waters so close... but perhaps it was that night chill so reminiscent of the blade that attempted to seep into his armor that surpassed all others. He savored each moment as he had the mead in his bloodstream, and as he finally reached the end of the particular row of homes Bellamont had written in his note, Lucien, for the first time since setting out, was given two reasons to pause before a small gate leading up a small dirt row and past a garden. The first reason, was the crystalline droplet from the sky that had settled it's self onto his cheek when he'd peered it up that very road.

More white droplets seemed to carry on the very wind, and they began to fall with increasing numbers. Before long at all, the entire black mosaic that was the sky and it's stars beyond, was filled with the lovely sight of snow in the spectral moonlight, descending down into Anvil to meet him. The second matter to give him pause, which, overcoming the beauty of the snow, met his eyes with an alluring radiance more lovely then the weather. The Bellamont Cottage gazed back at him, most of it's windows darkened, save what was most likely the front parlor, it's glow strong courtesy of the fireplace it held, and two bedrooms, scarcely visible due in part to his own distance from the home, and the faintness of the candle within each room.

Lucien turned his attention back to the front room ahead, reaching an unseen arm out to the rickety gate and opening it with a squeak of it's hinges. With another step, he had entered the property, and slowly, deliberately made his way through the snow flakes and up the path, removing the restraint of the sheath from his blade. It hissed approvingly as it left his belt and welcomed his hand as he lowered it to his side. In unison, his invisibility broke, and his limbs were returned to his eyes. Stepping silently along the cobblestone pathway, Lucien reached the front steps, carefully ascending it and reaching the front porch. He paused at the door, stepping up beside the front window, and he simply listened. The crackle of logs, although faint, filtered from the drawing room, pleasantly reaching his ears... but there was something joining it. Lucien breathed the night's fresh air, and slowly, more slowly then it had taken to ascend the stairs, he leaned around the corner, peaking into the front room, his lips within the confines of his hood curling into another faint smile as he took in what, at any other time, would have seemed a normal sight... but in this case, proved an unexpected one, and rendered Bellamont's information, at least tonight, to be inaccurate.

A mother clad in her figure hugging nightwear sat on one of the couches, her smooth legs propped up on a table, reading a book aloud for a little boy in pajamas who held her tightly around her midsection. The mother was a small Breton woman, and although older then Lucien, possessed in great quantity's the beauty and refinement so many of her part Elf kind held, her long dark hair spilling forth over her slender, pale shoulders. In physical appearance at least, there was certainly no trace of the witch or hag Bellamont had described. As she held the book, in unison, she stroked her son's own dark head, fingers brushing through his bristly hair, his bright eyes alive and peering with avid fascination at the pictures she showed him, speaking inaudible muffled words back to her in a high tone. She smiled a beautiful, tired smile down at the happy boy, her own eyes twinkling and, putting her book aside for a second, pressed her lips against his forehead and kissed him, before returning to the story.

Lucien watched them for another moment, a shadow hiding amongst other shadows, from the window, and he withdrew to the side, contemplating this new development with interest.

In truth, the boy's presence made little to no difference... a contract had been taken out and bestowed upon him by the Night Mother. Lucien would see it through... and he would do so tonight. If anything, the contract had just become that much more interesting with the child's presence, and he breathed again, warm air releasing in a cloud out to touch the delicate snowflakes. There was time, however... and this of all nights seemed so... peaceful, beautiful... it would not do to simply break down the front door and rend her to pieces, nor to casually pick the door's simple lock. It required a different touch, one more worthy of him... more thrilling. Something poignant he could recount to the others upon completion of his contract. He needed a good story to tell. Yes, he would wait until they had turned in for the night... and it seemed likely to occur soon enough. And there were windows, making it that much easier to know then they would be done. So, Lucien stood upon the front porch, peering out to the bay beyond the docks, to the distant lighthouse, it's light shining out towards the sea, and the swirling of the snow, and he listened into the night, listened to the mother's muffled, soft tone, to the genuine love in it she held for this child... and his anticipation remained easily under control.  
>He found himself wondering about his own family, back at their Sanctuary and out of the cold.<p>

It surprised him now and again how much their absences effected him when out on a long contract like this... and the love and ecstasy he felt each time he passed through that Sanctuary doorway, so very much like the love occurring within the cottage it's self. He waited in the moonlight of the highly risen, powerful ruby Masser and the smaller Secunda shining out their combined crimson and ghostly pale light respectively over the city by the sea... until at last, the story came to a close, and the mother, against the many protests of the child, took the boy down to his room not knowing the sands of her hourglass were nearly at the end. She returned to the front room, several minutes later, and placed some more wood on the fireplace. He held back the thirst coursing symbiotically through the blade and his mind that danced together as one, and he waited even longer still, feeling the Dread Father's and Mother's presences, not only within himself... but upon the very air encircling him, until she too had went off to her own room.

Lucien waited close to a half an hour, until assured, and stepped off the porch and into the grass, upon which the snow was gradually beginning to settle, his long cloak flowing over it. He made his way around the outside of the cottage methodically, until he had reached the closest window... that of the little boy's room, illuminated. He lay in his bed... but was not fast asleep, instead, his small hands continuing to flip through page after page of the book his mother had left with him, and, in spite of the lateness of the hour, he was as awake as he had been in the front room, staring avidly at rather detailed sketching's... drawings, of what looked to be Daedric or Aedric entity's and their assorted minions. Lucien started to continue on, with every intention to make his way around the outside of the home and to the mother's window, when he stopped suddenly... a deliciously insidious idea birthing it's self into existence, and he smiled at the undistilled darkness of it's utterly potent depravity, and how righteous it felt to have cultivated within himself.

There were times, now and again, where he was able to play with the mind's of his targets... poke at them before striking... gauge them... the presence of the child presented a great many opportunity, and it would be a greater loss to pass any one of them up. He would not murder the boy, certainly... the father would not pay him for the child's life, particularly given his wishes to seize custody... but Lucien was simply unable to let this opportunity slip by.

Making his way back to the child's window, Lucien again peered in through the window at the oblivious boy... until slowly, carefully, he rose the blade from his side, and tapped it several times gently upon the frost collecting window.

The boy's head snapped up from his book as he simultaneously dropped it to the floor in his shock, his wide eyes, now most certainly electric with fear, caught sight of the darkly hooded and cloaked man standing at his window, backed by the moonlight and the snow, the long silver blade of a sword glinting in the flickering light of the sole candle in his room. Lucien peered silently back at the seemingly paralyzed boy, savoring the perspiration of terror rolling off him, another faint smile forming and being kindly bestowed upon the boy... until, at last, he screamed and screamed, finding his little legs and tearing out of the bedroom, screaming shrilly throughout the cottage for his mother.

Lucien Lachance breathed again, the warm steam filtering out through the cold and reaching the window, heart pounding excitedly within his ears as a surge of energy rushed through it. Stowing the sword back away into his belt, he raised a free hand, and again made himself very much invisible, taking a step or two backwards from the window. A few moments later, the boy returned crying, pointing at the now empty window that had held an unknown man to his mother who had raced after him worriedly. She made her way closer to the window, against the child's urging, and opened it, leaning forward slightly, her anxious, tired and rather lovely face surely no more then a foot from Lucien's relaxed invisible one, and not much further from the blade at his side. He savored the feeling... the feeling of a predator who held all the power in the world... the power to take a life... and to do so whenever he pleased, at his own leisure.

He was tempted to raise a hand to her and stroke the soft, welcoming texture of her pale cheek, to caress it with all the tenderness he might a lover, yet refrained himself from doing so and breaking the illusion, nevertheless enjoying the presence of the urge it's self. He waited until the beautiful woman, finding nothing, had withdrawn her head from the window and closed, it, the worry beginning to evaporate, in spite of the son's insistence that it had not been a nightmare. The lateness of the hour returned to her, and she was clearly exhausted... but nevertheless aware of her son's fears. She turned back to the window and pressed it's locks into place before taking his hand and leading him from the bedroom and down to her own, blowing out the candle on her way out, the bedroom being overtaken by darkness.

Again, Lucien waited... but this time, far less then he had before. As adrenaline surged more so then it had been... he knew there was only one way to truly sate his appetite, and he had already taken enough time to get to it.

It was time to complete a contract. To partake in his hunger.

The invisibility again broke as he pressed the fingertips of his right glove to the window, and a surge of glowing green energy washed over it's entire width, momentarily awashing the bedroom with wraith-like light. It dissipated almost at once as the locks within were overtaken by this magical force and unlocked before Lucien's very eyes. His gloved hands reached up over the snow covered windowsill, and, with a light push, the window moved forward, and with it, an entrance was offered up to The Assassin, which he took at once, stepping up and lowering himself down inside the child's tiny bedroom like the unwelcome guest he was, closing and locking it back up behind himself.

He stood in the lovely solitude of the sanguine darkness only for as long as it took to unsheathe the blade, this time, for the final time that night. Lucien stepped forward over the floorboards carefully to avoid them creaking, his foot falling upon the dropped book as he left the room, finding himself in the hall of the cottage. Down the right side, led to the alit drawing room, the warmth of it's fire reaching Lucien's armored body, the steady crackling of the fire continuing, and in the same drawing room there was the door he would depart from.

His attention returned to the left side of the hall, where at the far end, there was more light, seeping through the cracks in the door and partially into the hall. Lucien's lips curled again as he continued down the hall towards it, and within a moment he stood just outside the door. As he took the final step, just before coming to a stop, his boots landed upon a floorboard weaker then the others, and it creaked again... but it no longer mattered how quiet he was... indeed, he could even hear the woman's faint snores as she lay asleep within. There was simply no stopping his will.  
><em><br>For Sithis I claim another for the Void... in the Night Mother's name my blade will rend... and for the Brotherhood I will never fail._

Lucien Lachance opened the door quickly as he burst through, and it slammed against the wall beside it. His trained eye required only a split second to survey the room before he tore all the way inside and crossed the threshold amidst his own shadows suspended on the walls in the candle light. The woman had indeed been fast asleep, a long wool blanket pulled up to her neck, but there was no sign of the boy to be seen anywhere in the room, and with his sudden entrance, she had been roused awake, and was beginning to scream piercingly as the hooded man bore down upon her. The boy didn't matter any longer, nothing mattered but the mother, and the deliverance of another. The screams, so incomparably beautiful, like the opening crescendo in the symphony that was death, spurred Lucien's hand, and brought incomparable and immeasurable joy to his heart.

Bellamont wanted it through... he would get the most for his money. Lachance had already drawn back the hissing blade over his head, bringing it down upon the bed, upon the screeching woman, with all his might.

In one fluent whirlwind of motion, he cleaved the women's head from her shoulders, separating the two in a fountain of blood bursting forth from the stump in a geyser and running like a river down over the pillow and sheets, soaking the bed rapidly as it flowed freely over the side, dripping like a scarlet rainstorm all over the floor. The front of Lachance's armor, his smooth calm face, and the folds of his cloak were each sprayed by the flying droplets, but the blade it's self that had earlier shone in the light was now entirely covered by the woman's blood, rendered opaque. The moment he had decapitated the Bellamont woman, her severed head had dropped down off the side of her bed and onto the floorboards with an almost comical thud, the river continuing to pour freely forth from the disembodied appendage. Lachance, lowering his dripping blade back down to his side, watched as her screams, silent forevermore, _continued _in this silence as her mouth opened and closed uselessly, her horrified eyes bulging momentarily back up at her Assassin's pitilessly dark and pleased ones, and then stealing down beneath the bed, as if watching the droplets of her very blood flow down off it and join with the rest.

She seemed almost to remain conscious... or far more likely it was merely her brain realizing it's imminent death, for at least twenty seconds until the fluttering of her now permanently widened, bulging eyes ceased, her luscious lips parting, and her mouth agape. By then her body, still trapped under the red sheets, had too ceased it's own convulsive jerking movements... and Lucien stood back, admiring the quality of his execution.

Of his handiwork.

Contrary to popular belief, single blow decapitations were not quite as simple as they were widely thought. Not only did it require power, but precision... something he was more then capable of. The blood began to pool around his feet and through the cracks in the floorboards, until he stood in the midst of a pond.

The pooling droplets ran from his forehead, over his nose and upon his lips and chin while all the while his all seeing eyes from within the hood watched with detachment the blood flow intricately about for quite some time patternlessly, before, with a small satisfied nod of his head, his bloody boots took him from the room, floorboards squeaking, shifting and creaking with every few steps, and he departed the room, closing the bedroom door behind himself.

Lucien left the seaside cottage silently, re-sheathing his dripping blade and casting his camouflage again when he stepped back out into the night, his boots imprinting a trail of red footprints into the snow until he was some distance from the cottage.

By the time dawn rose over the snow entrenched city of Anvil and screams of murder filled the air along the Dockside when the deed was discovered, Lucien Lachance had collected his payment from the entirely muted, motionless Bellamont who stared blankly at the stains upon his cloak and face, had slipped out of the city and was already back on the Gold Road and well underway with his departure. Unable to buy any supplies in towns looking as he did, he remembered to stop by a stream to wash the blood from himself before he continued on more quickly, bound for the safety and comfort of his beloved Sanctuary, his family. As he traveled, all the while he was unaware of the seed he had helped plant in the midst of the very carnage he had delivered that night, a night, as it turned out, he would soon forget about as the contract's of his career became even more lucrative, ambitious, and above all... pleasurable, then they already were.

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><p><strong>And there you are, a little of what's to come. Thanks for reading, again any reviews are appreciated.<strong>


	2. Part 2: Two Speakers walked into a bar

**Captain Arbitrary:** Thank you for my first review of the story, I appreciate it, and i'm glad to see I have interpreted Lucien and the event faithfully, as I intend to continue to do. As for Lucien, you will most certainly see more of him from me.

**So, my first chapter didn't get much in the way of reviews, but I'm far from deflated. Having written before, I know it usually takes awhile with these things, and I am as determined as I ever was to continue. Now, in the first segment we saw the young Lucien Lachance... I hope I honored the character, showed to you just how evil a man he is... but that's the thing with Lucien and characters like him, evil individuals with a great deal of charisma... in spite of it all, we can't help liking and even rooting for them compared to the 'antagonist', to the point we curse at whoever is rightfully seeking vengeance upon these charismatic assholes who deserve whatever coming to them, IE Alex Delarge in Clockwork Orange. As such, much of this story will detail the humanity of Lucien and the Dark Brotherhood... though to be sure, by no means am I attempting to to paint any of them as good human beings. I am not trying to redeem any of them, merely to show just how deep and rich of characters they are, their relationships to one another, a cult of death worshiping assassins, who ironically get along far better then most family's that are not evil. Now, we flash forward 20+ years from the Lucien who seeded the events that are to take place, and onwards to the Lachance we all came to know, yet still before we actually met him.**

**So, here you are:**

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><p>It was a cold night like any other of the Evening Star in the city of Chorrol... but even this did little to discourage the activity in the snow filled streets of many of it's districts. The night life of the City had come out an hour after the fall of the sun, bound for their respective destinations of leisure. Many headed out to the run down Grey Mare that night, to celebrate in the tavern, heartily drinking, laughing, slapping one another on the back, gambling, getting into brawls that required a visit from the guards or telling story's of adventures in times passed. The bar was a gathering place for some of the town's worst elements... thieves, murderers and other criminals... and as such, merited the close scrutiny and presence of the guards, given it's proximity to the Castle of Chorrol, and by extension, the Countess. There was, however, another such tavern within the city, one with a higher sense of respectability then the Grey Mare, which too saw a great number of patrons that night.<p>

The upper balconies and main floor of this tavern and lodging home, The Oak and Croiser, was abuzz with voices and laughter of the city's middle and upper classes socializing at each table of the bar, savoring a drink or two, or the crowd of happy couples dancing together over the violins and lutes the three hired bards were playing rather intensely, their vigor nevertheless matched by musical ability. The Khajiit owner of the establishment, a young female in a lovely blue dress, along with her employees, were nearly buried beneath the number of patrons for the longest of times, rushing back and forth pouring their respective drinks until they were satisfied, sliding their Septim's across the counter to them. There was a great joy throughout the entire lodge and a festive furor so much like that of the Grey Mare across town, yet somehow equally different.

It was one of far more sophistication, at least.

Nobody was quite certain at which point in the night he had taken his seat at the end of the bar's counter... but in any event, there sat a hooded man, clad in smooth midnight black robes with an odd metallic diamond shaped pendant resting at his collar, on a stool, simply watching the excitement around him unfold with an expression of polite expectation. His hands, clad in equally dark gloves that stretched all the way up his arms beneath the folds of the robes, were interwoven comfortably together, perfectly at ease. For one who stood out in sharp contrast to the other patrons, many of whom clad in their finest dress-ware for a night on the town, he seemed nevertheless to blend into the activity of the tavern like a chameleon, the consummate watcher at the sidelines, his analytical, hazel eyes sweeping between the other patrons or occasionally resting upon the closed main door, from which men and women either came in or went out laughing with one another.

He had changed physically so very little in the decades that had passed since first he'd found his calling. While his youth was ebbing as he slipped into middle age, having developed a few faint lines on his face, he nevertheless seemed as young and alive as he ever was, younger even then most of the other patrons, particularly in his eyes. His face, once kept smooth, held now a dark shadow of stubble that befitted and accentuated his naturally attractive Imperial features. Now and again women of all present races would pass by, clearly enticed by his shadowy presence, and would attempt to take the lone empty seat beside him, fixing him playful looks... but as they started forward to do so, he would simply look up into their eyes without blinking, his thin lips forming a faint smile in return, and at this each woman would seem to freeze in their tracks. With a subsequent, simple shake of his head they reluctantly obeyed his silent wish, leaving him again by himself.

He seemed to hold the exact opposite effect for some others, however... for the other patrons sitting at the counter of the bar had gave him a wide berth and maintained a good distance between themselves and he, as if effected by an invisible unwelcome aura surrounding the unusual dark man that none of them could quite describe. An aura that seemed to draw in some, and unsettle others, regardless of their not truly knowing him.

The dark man did not partake in the social activity's and lively conversation as the others present were doing for quite some time... at least, not until he was soon joined by another so very much like himself. Another it seemed he had been respectfully waiting for, who drew familiarity and speech from him at once upon the arrival.

A shadowy figure with the definite swell of bosoms, far taller then most others it passed, slipped into the tavern comfortably along with the cool air from the streets, standing in the doorway for a moment and visibly scanning the movements of the room presented before her as if watching a play unfold on a stage. The glow of the light overtaking the main floor of the Tavern passed into even the dark confines of her own midnight hood, illuminating the unmistakable pale golden texture of her smooth feminine features, while some features remained, as with the Imperial, obscured by the hood. The Altmer woman, herself reaching the middle age of her kind yet scarcely showing it, scanned the crowds, from which many had momentarily broken off from either conversation or dancing to quickly glimpse her unusual appearance.

It was not merely her robes... rather it was the distinct lack of haughtiness long associated with the High Elves that drew some attention. There were other Altmer men and women present about the room and on the balconies, dressed in their finest clothes, laughing to one another snobbishly as they gossiped, refusing to associate with the commoner middle classes that attempted to move closer and strike up conversation with them now and again, some going so far as to wrinkle their noses and look away with disgust. By sharp contrast, the robed Altmer woman was kind faced and had been smiling with genuinely warm geniality from the moment she had entered the tavern, seemingly embracing the whole room with her eyes... and, following the sideways glances of some of the patrons who were making the association between the robes of the hooded man at the bar and the matching set on herself, this gentle smile became even further pronounced as she caught sight of him waiting graciously, a glow beginning to form within her and emanate at the very glimpse of him.

The Altmer woman crossed over the main floor of the lodge purposefully, her long boots of dark leather carrying her gracefully, yet as she did so she did not weave around the dancing couples and friends seemingly blocking her access from the bar. The moment her long shadow befell them, they parted backwards as if separated by her very presence, clearing her a path directly through them before taking one another hands again and resuming their rhythmical movements, many of them still watching her for a brief time.

As she reached the far end of the counter, drawing closer to him, Lucien Lachance rose up from his seat courteously, standing before her. With all the gentlemanly manner inherent in a great many Imperial's, he took her gloved hand into his and touched his lips against it, drawing an unmistakable delighted blush to the Elven woman's golden cheek that she did little to hide.

"My dearest sister", The hooded Imperial murmured smoothly, drawing back carefully, himself possessing a trace of a knowing smirk... yet far from an unkind one. "It has been far too long since last we saw one another... in the flesh".

"It certainly has dearest brother", Arquen agreed almost breathlessly with her fellow Speaker, quickly recovering herself from the flutter of joy his lips had sent spanning throughout her entire being with a quiet breath. Her voice was hushed like his own... yet not naturally so. It betrayed, even at it's edges, the passion and exhilaration accustomed to a great many Elves, yet was purposefully downplayed, holding a maturity for the most part. Following up upon his warm greeting, Lucien drew up her seat for her, waiting until she had taken it before taking his own place beside her. They leaned closer together partially, continuing to speak silently in comparison to the ever increasing stream of noises surrounding them from all sides. "I daresay this generation has been keeping us far too busy as of late."

"Indeed so", Lucien replied almost gravely, casting an eye down in the direction of the maid on the other side of the counter. The Khajiit woman had been watching them now and again, and with a smile, his gloved hand waved her over politely before he looked back to Arquen. "Would you care for a Spirit or two? Wine or brandy perhaps?"

"That would be quite welcome Lucien... I have a long journey ahead of me and everything. I've already eaten quite well before I headed out... but tonight a little Mead might do some wonders".

"Ah. Ever a woman after my own heart...".

"You _would _know, now wouldn't you?"

The bartender, having finished serving a large group of customers, made her way over and came to a stop before them, and for a moment, the hooded pair drew away from one another to address her presence. There was something in the woman's eyes, perhaps of a moment's trepidation as she watched them quietly for a split second... then, remembering her voice, forwent her uncertainty towards the unusual pair, and utilized it.

"Hey there, you two just come from a temple or church or something?", Came the low throaty growl of the feline woman, continuing to study their out of place, yet otherwise rather elegant attire.

"Or something", echoed Lucien quite agreeably, drawing an iridescent smirk from the High Elf at his side.

"I pray to Azura all the time you know... never seem to get anything out of Her though", Muttered the Khajiit resentfully with an absent shrug of her slender, fur covered shoulders. There was a calmness to the hooded man that seemed to put her at ease as well... as though it were radiating from him, even after only two words from him... the silently watching High Elf with him though, she wasn't so certain about. Unpleasant vibes the exact opposite of the man's own seemed to surround that one in spite of or perhaps _because_ of her smile... so the Bartender addressed her attention more to the Imperial. "May as well just give up, save myself some time. Guess we all don't get what we want huh? Name's Talasma by the way. What can I get you two tonight?"

"The lady and I will share a bottle of your finest Mead, my dear woman", Lucien informed her silkily, reaching into the belt fastened at his waist and producing a small handful of Septim's and laying out the proper amount on the counter before tucking away the rest from sight. "Nordic if possible, should you have that such variety in your possession, it would be most appreciated, thank you."

"You're in luck, handsome", Came her throaty growl as she took the coins, producing a pair of crystalline glasses and vanishing beneath the bar as she stooped to retrieve their bottle. "We just got a shipment from a supplier out in Whiterun a couple weeks ago... great stuff, this."

Appearing again, Talasma had recovered a tall, thick bottle, and with a pop, she had torn the cork from it with her long nails, pouring the hooded pair each a glass, and laying the remaining contents down on the counter for themselves to pour at leisure. The Speakers thanked her politely at once, each taking their glass, and within a moment, another patron down the far end of the counter had signaled the Khajiit for another, and wishing them well, she forced herself to look away from the hooded Imperial, and quickly left them again in each others company. When she had gone, Arquen merely smiled after her before turning again.

"She's been praying to the wrong Lady. To what do we raise our glasses this time, dear Brother?", Arquen inquired, peering back at her Imperial companion from over the rim of the drink, raising a thin eyebrow curiously. "To our Mother? To our Father?"

"Our love for them is an everlasting constant, dear sister", Lachance's pleasantly low voice answered suavely, peering unblinkingly from within his own hood, over his own drink. "Like the existence of sunlight... of Darkness. No... tonight, we raise our glasses to each other, our unceasing vigilance that will rid us of our problem, and the Talon's on the respective Fingers of the Hand we represent."

"To the looming... removal, of the Betrayer", Arquen agreed resolutely, a less then pleasant smile forming at the thought, exposing her teeth for the first time since her arrival, if only for a matter of seconds. There was a moment of muddy darkness in the depths of her eyes that matched Lucien's own, and her unusually sharpened and long teeth glinting like soulless daggers in the light. "To the agony in which he or she will writhe at our hands... and the eternal damnation they shall receive after their judgment in the Void".

"You've always had such a way with words, Sister..."

"You should be one to talk, Lucien".

The hooded pair touched their glasses to one another with a gentle rhythmical clinking of crystal, and each took a drink, savoring in unison the sweet and powerful taste of the Mead's fermented honey, and the sudden warmth of the quickening washing through their respective beating hearts. The moments passed in a shared comfortable silence, in a slow pleasurable fashion as they continued to sip the drinks. The noises of the lodges main floor around them seemed to become less so to one another's perceptions, saying not a single word... yet nearly communicating telepathically within that lovely silence that formulated a world built only for two around them. It was Arquen who eventually broke through it, resting her partially empty glass down on the counter after Lucien had already done so, his arms resting comfortably upon the bar, hands intertwined. The Altmer Speaker lay a gloved hand delicately on Lucien's forearm, caressing it slowly upwards to his wrist and, peeling back the sleeve partially, ran it back downwards over the black material wrappings beneath, her pretty smile teasing, and drawing another from him with startling ease.

"So _do_ tell me, Mister Lachance... to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit... and all _this_? I was half expecting we'd meet at the Grey Mare again, not somewhere so... clean. You've outdone me in tavern selection at any rate".

Lucien's features betrayed a false sense of innocence, his thin lips curling.

" '_This_', dear Arquen? You have me at something of a disadvantage. To what might you be inquiring?"

"Oh... you know, the drink, the company... the Imperial Charms and the silver tongue... is there something else you wished of me tonight?"

The Imperial Speaker feigned being aghast, eyes widening mockly as though he were shocked.

"Dear sister, has it not occurred to you that I simply wished to thank you for your support? Must everything possess a sexual connotation with you? Not to say of course it isn't welcome..."

Arquen continued to stroke the Imperials forearm slowly for a time, laughing quietly at his unflappable manner.

"Uh huh. Well... perhaps not _tonight_ it won't, anyways.", she answered at last with some silkiness of her own, withdrawing her touch reluctantly, and reaching out again for her own glass. "In any event... there was surely more then one reason for this meeting, Lucien... I know what you're like. You never travel anymore without having more then one goal... and you have a knack with timing... with being in the right place at exactly the right time. I can't say I was expecting the Mistress of my Sanctuary to pass off a letter for me, alerting me to your presence here in town".

Lucien folded his gloved hands together once more, an eyebrow arching to the lovely High Elf.

"You are quite perceptive in regards to me, sister. In truth, I came foremost to thank you, however, for lending your Silencer to help my own. I know the others... Ungolim included, are not yet as concerned as we with a single missing child from my own Sanctuary... and the others who have vanished across Cyrodiil... but actions must be taken, and at once, before the situation has time to escalate. I know you also have lost now at least two of your brothers and sisters... so you understand what I am saying all too well. These are not pleasant times. One moment we have missing brothers... the next, it is each of us who are missing as well".

Their respective demeanor's changed all at once as they slid into a topic of conversation far less then pleasant then their flirtation had been. A grimness settled deeply into each, eyes narrowed intently as they spoke.

"Contrary to Ungolim's belief, none of my brothers and sisters would up and quit the Brotherhood... much less disappear from the face of Tamriel", Arquen muttered with a hint of bitterness at the thought, as if it offended her personally to the core of her being. "They were at peace in their family... they belonged right where they were. A true brother or sister would _never _leave us willingly... would _never _break the Tenets...".

"No more would dear little Maria from my own family", Lucien agreed at once, his voice possessing a trace of dark ice as he reached for his glass again and took another drink. "Ocheeva, to say nothing of the others, were less then pleased over that. I was forced to exert my position to keep them concentrated on their contracts, and not out roving the streets of Cheydinhal murdering anyone they suspected of the crime."

Arquen rubbed her chin absentmindedly, deep in consideration, staring down her slightly upturned nose and into the contents of her mead.

"I know that Uvani has put forward the thought that the Tong is behind all this... and Ungolim probably supports it... but I just can't see it. There has been no outright conflict with our old brethren in an Era. Besides, Uvani isn't even truly overlooking his Sanctuary at the moment... hasn't been for some time. He's far too overworked as it is to have time to come up with a better theory, how can he be expected to understand as we do? What do you think?"

"No", Lucien agreed with shake of his head, finishing the remainder of his drink before lowering it back down and breathing quietly. He too had considered such an angle... but only for as long as it had taken to realize it's obvious invalidity.

"It is neither the Tong nor The Watch responsible for this outrage. If it were truly either of them, the Tong would have made the murders known... just as the worm Adamus Philida would have carted our brothers off to The Imperial City for torture, interrogation and public execution. The only answer is treachery from a wretch posing as a brother or sister within Cyrodiil. It is not an answer I enjoy to say, yet it is the truth... and we shall serve the Mother. Once Blanchard, and your own Shaleez, uncover the traitor's identity in their combined investigations... their head will be removed... after a lengthy period of questioning of course, and they shall serve as a warning to any who would betray the Father's will".

"I'll drink to that", Arquen whispered coolly, sipping again from her mead with maddening relish. Once it was empty, Lucien poured her another drink, and she thanked him graciously, her suddenly gentle brown eyes simpering warmly his way. "Truthfully though... I almost suspect everyone except me and thee of the crime... discounting Ungolim of course".

"Yet, until then... we must carry on with business as usual, as is our way.", Lucien continued with an appreciative smile at her wry afterthought, pouring himself another drink, leaving the bottle half empty. "So, might I inquire as to what will be taking you away from the Chorrol Sanctuary for... how long is it?"

"At least two weeks I think... maybe a bit longer", The Altmer woman answered at once raising her glass again to her pair of full, rather sensual lips. "I'll be traveling across Cyrodiil to inform each of the Sanctuary Masters and Mistresses of our fears... and then I'm going to consult with the rest of the Hand individually, gather more of their thoughts... hopefully convince Ungolim to ask the Mother for the identity of the Traitor... you know how stubborn he can be. I'm going to start with Anvil, I think, and make my way around the province counterclockwise, Kvatch, Skingrad... a simple enough route I think. There's no point branching off the main roads and getting myself ambushed... not that the coward Traitor could take me on in a fight. I'd certainly enjoy seeing them try, however".

Lucien considered this schedule of hers for a moment, and he smiled slightly as an idea formed.

"As you have no cause to visit the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, which is already quite aware of the situation, I think I can give you cause to visit _me_, at least."

Arquen fixed the quietly charismatic Imperial with another pretty smile, one though that at last hearkened back to the haughtiness deeply rooted into much of her race.

"_Oh_? And what might that be Mister Lachance?", she asked with complete innocent interest, her warm eyes glittering with clear amusement.

"Once you have completed your travels, drop by my home at Fort Farragut for a meal... and we might discuss what you have learned from the others... provided of course you wish to, and haven't other more pressing matters of which you must attend to".

The Altmer pretended to consider his proposition, already having the answer, and instead continued to enjoy their banter, pressing her full, scarlet lips tightly together.

"Fort _Farragut_? Is that where you have yourself holed up these days? That's the leaky old place _outside _Cheydinhal, isn't it?"

"Indeed so, but after clearing out a particular section, setting up a few deterrents for Bandits or other filth hiding out in the wild, you would do well not to take the front door by the way... it's quite comfortable, actually... reminds me of the Sanctuary".

"Why not just _live _in the Sanctuary then?", Arquen asked with an evident hint of incredulity. "It's what I do".

"I do, occasionally", Lucien admitted with a slow smile. "Yet as delightful as the Cheydinhal Family is... has always been, I've found it pays at times to have a back up home, a place of solitude for silence where it is necessary. If I spent all my time with the family, they would perhaps never let me get the Mothers work done. Believe me... your family is possibly not as... _unique_, as mine... no offense intended of course... if anything, that could be interpreted as a compliment, actually".

Arquen burst out into laughter, doing so for quite some time, and drawing a modest, low chuckle from Lucien, who returned his attention to the mead as she at last recovered herself.

"You're just like J'Ghasta... well, no, not as bad I guess... you aren't living up in a frozen mountain town, for one thing, or spending all your time punching targets and dummies. I don't really look forward to going up there. Dreadful enough it's already the Evening Star... it's cold enough as it is I say. If I _do _come to see you, I would have to go there first you know, then come back down here and do my counterclockwise route. It would perhaps set me back a day".

Lucien considered this, but only for a moment, the answer coming easily enough.

"I can make the offer worth your while, dear sister", he answered quite evenly, as if it were all of little account. "Should you choose to accept it".

"Well now, when you put it like that... I _suppose_ I can't see any reason not to drop by your little humble underground home... so long as you promise me a nice dinner, one that _you_ cooked and not _Vicente_, and arrange for plenty more bottles of mead", The Speaker finally continued rubbing her covered hands together as she considered the looming occasion, leaning gradually closer his way. Her mere smile told Lucien a thousand of her hearts desires, but most of all that she was already looking forward to it... to say nothing of the rest of her tell tale body language and manner. He knew from experience it was not solely the Mead responsible... for her tolerance to it was perhaps nearly on par with a Nord. He had never been one to give himself too little credit either.

"And as long as you promise not to serve any of those 'special' Apples you insist on carrying around with you, for desert..."

"I shall try to refrain from doing so, dear sister. I have one on me now though, if you wish for some more pre-travel nourishment?".

"... then we can eat some fine food, drink, discuss matters, drink... and _see _what else happens".

"There you go again. Apart from serving the Father and Mother, you have an extraordinarily singular pattern of thought... who would have imagined as much from the mind of an oh so 'superior' High Elf, hmm?"

"I doubt you'd have a problem with it, you Imperial pig".

"I'll manage, I'm sure".

"Good boy".

The Speakers of the Black Hand resumed their warm, comfortable silence which they had shared not long before, and together, slowly finished off the remainder of the Mead between one another, eventually lapsing into several invigorating hours of conversation. As the night went on, and some of the Patrons turned in at either their lodgings upstairs, or gradually trickled out with fewer coming back inside, Arquen picked up the reigns of their conversation again, leaning slightly against the counter comfortably as she spoke, absently tapping her boot against Lucien's. Lucien turned his attention away from the gradual dying down of the music and activity, and returned it to her.

"Alright, there's something else Lucien... don't think you're off the hook. Now it's my turn to ask a question, since I answered yours. Apart from dropping by here to see me...", Arquen gave an almost imperceptible wink at this. "A very intelligent move on your part, I should note, what other business has you away from Cheydinhal?"

Lucien too leaned slightly against the counter, and, as he formed his answer, he dug into one of the pockets of his robes, producing a folded letter, laying it down on the counter between them. Arquen took the letter into her hands and began to read it silently, simultaneously listening to Lucien's explanation.

"I received this letter from Ungolim a couple days ago", The Speaker of the Black Hand explained to his colleague. There was an unmistakable hint of a pleased note in his voice as he spoke of it.

"It would seem the Mother has found another child in need of adoption, of a home... in need of a _true _family's love. Needless to say, this particular situation will be slightly different then many of the others that preceded it. She is quite sick, you see, from her time spent in the Imperial Prison, and is living out on The Imperial Streets with the other poor souls that reside there. As such, she will not have to claim another victim to receive admission. She will not be given her first contract until she has been well taken care of and is capable to taking another... the Cheydinhal Sanctuary will welcome her with open arms, regardless of this. I have no cause to doubt in her ability's for inflicting agony... she has taken... oh my yes, her heart is dark... but the one who caught the Mother's eye occurred last week... when the dear child poisoned a member of her old family... her very aunt. When we are done here, I shall ride out to The Imperial City and bring her into a new life. I must admit... there is something as satisfying as helping a child in need as there is in the blade joining with the flesh."

Arquen glanced up from the letter as he reached the end of his summary, and she reached the end of Ungolim's writing.

"A _Breton_ girl?", She inquired, raising an eyebrow almost condescendingly in mock jealousy, a smirk forming. "Many men have a weakness for Breton women you know... something about the whole Man and Elf mix... and 'Antoinetta Marie' is about as Breton of a name as I've ever heard. I'm sure she'll have a 'weakness', for you. Are you one of those men? Wouldn't be surprised... with a name like Lachance..."

"Oh, you needn't worry yourself...", Lucien shrugged with non nonchalance, himself smirking again slightly at her quip. "I strongly doubt to make that much of an impression on the poor girl, given a likely independent background... and besides which... although Breton's are lovely, there has always, I admit, been something about pointed ears that catches my attention... my fancy, if you will. I can't quite place my finger on it".

Arquen stared at him blankly for no more then a second... then calmly rolled up the letter into a bundle and swatted him in the face before passing it right back to him. It was Lucien's turn to laugh loudly as he stowed the letter back out of sight. Placing an arm suddenly and welcomely around her shoulders, and reaching into another pocket he brought forth a familiar scarlet sight, holding it before her. The smooth sheen to the apple skin hid the death that lay within.

"Are you positively sure I cannot accommodate you?"

"I'll make _you _eat that thing in a minute if you keep that up, oh my Brother"

Although Arquen tried to keep her face tightened with mock offense and irritation, her arms crossing tightly over her chest, she soon found herself joining him, clutching her sides as she did so. They laughed together for a time until, at last, they began to die down, each nevertheless still pulsing with delight inside. It was a peaceful feeling... a kind of bliss so very much like the one they each felt after the kill. They had killed together even, certainly... but it was their conversations that held a depth as exhilarating as even the memories of those old times.

"Ah yes, and before I forget...", Lucien started, reaching into yet another of his deep pockets, rummaging through it's contents and producing a quill and bottle of ink. He lay each upon the counter before bringing forth another scrap of parchment, and began to write upon it in a speedy flourish. "I am giving you the location of a drop box I possess in Cheydinhal... it is here I receive my messages from the others. I change it every month of course... for you never know. I also check it every day. Once you reach the city, leave a note within to inform me of your presence and whereabouts... and I shall dispatch a messenger to you promptly."

Arquen smiled rather enticingly as her fellow speaker passed the parchment off to her and stowed the writing utensils out of sight, examining the note before glancing back up to him.

"You certainly are careful, Mister Lachance", Her silky voice commented, and she too tucked the note into a pocket on her robes. "But then what else is to be expected from those know as much as we?"

"Vigilance, my dear Arquen. Unwavering vigilance and readiness... that is the continued price that must be paid for the survival of our ways".

By now, even more of the Patrons were beginning to slip out. The exhausted group of Bard's, consisting of a tall sweating and bearded Nord with shoulder length dark hair, a massive Orc with dark green skin now downing an entire pint of what looked to be a blue Ale someone had passed him from the sidelines, and a small red haired Wood Elf who was perfectly at ease and relaxed as he bowed, had completed their final song and were being applauded by the tavern's occupants as they took a bow, the Orc spilling, to his evident annoyance, some of the ale in the process. The two Speakers of the Black Hand joined in, clapping loudly with everyone else as the Bards moved up to the bar and collected their payment from a very pleased Talasma, who shook each of their hands as she did so. Lucien himself, ever the gentleman, offered his own hand to each of these Bards respectfully, and each took it the moment they had spotted it, his dark eyes smiling back at them.

Through the crowds swirling of activity, he was scarcely able to catch their names, only one such filtering through audibly, belonging, clearly, to either the Nord or the Orc, the name in question being Grognak. The opportunity was taken, before the departure of the Bards, to sign a sudden flurry of autographs a great many of the younger patrons desired. It took at least a half an hour for them to reach the final autograph, and escape through the mob of fans by slipping out the back door and making a dash for it. With the Bards gone, the atmosphere had most certainly relaxed even further, despite the continued liveliness left behind, most of the patrons choosing that time to leave... and before long, only several tables, counting both floors, held anybody, with the counter, save Lucien and Arquen at the end, being entirely empty. It was at this time that the pair finally became aware of the time that had flown by. As it turned out, they were the last to leave as the Bar Maids cleaned the place up, with Lucien leaving a Septim behind as a tip.

Together, Arquen taking her companion's arm quite suddenly yet tenderly, they departed from the lodge with a courteous smile to the Khajiit owner, still chatting, and out into the icy streets of Chorrol, the blissful snowflakes of the Evening Star greeting them as surely as the moonlight. They passed through the streets, and the districts, as if walking upon a great fog of satisfaction the evening had created, neither effected from the dropping temperature their respective thick, enchanted robes insulated them from. They passed closed stores and guilds, hungry beggars and armored guards alike, earning curious, even confused looks at the sight that befell them, the tall shadowy Altmer and the equally dark man who came, at his full height, up to her shoulders, but nobody stopped them or even considered doing so as they journeyed to the city gate's, slipping out from Chorrol and making their way to the Chorrol horse stables just down the next cobblestone road that greeted them outside.

Arquen's faithful horse, a magnificent brown steed, waited for her at the gate of it's pen, even as all the others slept, and the moment it caught sight of the two robed figures, of his mistress, began to brush at the gate impatiently with it's hoof, until she reached a long arm forward and stroked the top of it's head soothingly, whispering to it like a mother cooing to her child. Lucien watched the scene in silence as the steed attempted to lick at Arquen's face, much to her almost child-like delight as she laughed, and at last, the horse's mistress opened it's gate, taking it by the reigns, and, after leading it back over to her fellow speaker, they continued on down the road, closer to the great white forests and countryside surrounding the city perimeter. At last, they reached the two way intersection at the end of the road, and the three stopped beside the sign that awaited them, the hooded figures glancing up at it.

**The Orange Road - North - Bruma**

**The Black Road - West - The Imperial City**

With reluctance, the taller of the two relinquished her grip on the Imperial's arm, yet simultaneously releasing her hold on the reigns of the horse, which remained where it was. She took a sheathed sword from the saddle, amongst the bundle of supplies it held, and clipped it into her belt before she turned back to him and smiled with enough warmth to overpower the snow and fill him with something altogether different then coldness.

"Thank you for yet another lovely evening, dearest Speaker", She whispered softly, peering down at him tenderly, and with unmistakable affection and sensitivity. "You always give me such incomparable ones. It is such a shame the entire Black Hand so rarely gets together anymore... unless something less then pleasant has happened... but at least each Finger has another beside it".

"Uvani cannot drink mead".

"Poor fellow, probably why he's always so angry..."

"The pleasure, I assure you, was entirely mine, dear sister, as it always is to be in your company", Lucien Lachance's distinct voice informed her at once courteously, and he bowed low to the lovely golden lady clad in the night before himself. At last he straightened himself upright and, taking the long black traveling cloak protruding from one of the satchels upon her horse, moved behind her, draping it about her shoulders, and he continued to speak, to whisper into her ear through the hood. "I shall see you again soon enough... for which I can scarcely wait. Give my kindest regards to the others, and do travel safely, as ever, in the shadow of Sithis. All hail our Dread Father".

"May the Night Mother watch over and hold you in her cold embrace, as you deliver for her yet another child in your devout service". Arquen responded tenderly in kind as she revolved back to face him, heart swelling within it's confines, and curtsying respectfully before at last turning towards her horse, lifting a leg into the stirrups and climbing up with familiar ease, mounting it before taking the reigns in either long fingered, gloved hand. Before setting out North, after a few steps forward from her horse, she stopped it, and she glanced back over her shoulders to the lone shadowy man standing at the intersection, and she smiled back at his silhouette with every bit of love coursing like a flow of Magicka throughout her being.

"And do give my love to Shadowmere, won't you?"

With that, without waiting for a reply Lucien could not even think of, she turned and spurred her horse into motion, and it whinnied before carrying her off down the Orange Road, cloak fluttering behind her like a burial shroud in the breeze, where she soon vanished around the subsequent bend.

Lucien Lachance remained at the intersection for a small time, breathing the cold serenity that was the air of the Cyrodiil forests. At last, adjusting his robes slightly, the Speaker returned his attention to the task that lay before him, already relishing the addition of another to the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. With a final sideways glance of his own...

**The Black Road - West - The Imperial City**

... before long, he too was underway in his endeavors.

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><p><strong>There you are, the second segment of the chronicle... now perhaps some of you are wondering why I have chosen Arquen of the other Black Hand members to be in closer contact to Lucien, to be the other major character of the story... the reasons are numerous as they are practical. Having played the game, looking over the wiki's, characters and everything... I realized she is the only other Black Hand member, and one of the few Brotherhood members, who seems his complete equal, his peer, having a lot in common to him... and a lot not in common. They have many characteristics I believe one another would find attractive in the other... and I will say it now, I will make it clear just how... around the bend we all know Arquen is, to put it mildly... and what it is Lucien finds desirable about her. This is not so much a pairing story, I chose them because I believe they would have a very dark, interesting chemistry, both being senior and very much active members of the family. There is something quite fascinating about writing not merely evil or good characters... but the insane. As far as why the pair were discussing matters in a public place... well, Lachance is a classy murderer, they were talking quietly, people were avoiding them, and above all... I feel certain Arquen has the city in her pocket, much like Lucien's own Cheydinhal. Now that the second segment is over, it's on to the third... I should warn you now that the third segment will be very long, and compose the bulk of the story... I opted not to split it into numerous chapters, for doing so would slow me down, and from the start I had intended it to be like this... It will perhaps be the length of a novella, just an estimate, and comprise quite a few familiar faces ;), and see things from the perspective of more then one character. <strong>

**I often times litter my stories with little references to other works or memes, so I'll try to point a few of them out now and then. In this one, you Fallout 3 fans might have spotted the familiar name of Grognak, possibly applying to the Nord Bard. Some of you fellow Brotherhood fans and Deviant art people especially, might find it... interesting, of _Arquen_, comparing Lucien to a pig, and Lucien's... appreciation of pointed ears comes from the Spock phenomenon xD.  
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**Anyways, thanks for reading, and as ever, any reviews, ideas or encouragement are greatly appreciated.  
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	3. Part 3: The Cheydinhal Family

**Tempest: ****Thank you for the review! As far as the Mead references go, i think you can expect a few more over the story, because simply put, Mead is one of the most manly goddamn drinks in the world... as well as Rum xD arrrr matey. I'm glad to hear you enjoyed my chapters, it is greatly appreciated!**

**Now, not much in the way of reviews for my last two chapters... kind of disappointing, dunno, figured it'd get a fair bit more attention, seeing how much we all love Lucien/the dark brotherhood, and how great Oblivion is... not sure if maybe the two genres I have set for the description put anyone off, but i certainly hope not... considering I'm only allowed to have two, when this story fits into far more genre's then Family and Romance... they merely seemed the best choices, considering how the story is going to go. Alas... doesn't matter, I intend to finish this story, but it may take a bit. Now, on to this chapter, comprising the bulk of the story, and I apologize if long chapters bore anyone... more like novella, the length this thing ended up. I strongly advise taking a break now and again xD, using a book mark or what have you lol. This chapter will cover the family we all know and love xD, that of Cheydinhal. Lucien, although the main character of the story, will not be the only point of view... we will see the family from his eyes, as well as the eyes of a familiar arrival, and another already in the family. So, without further rambling, do enjoy :).  
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><p><strong><span>A Stronger Loving World to Die in<span>**

He rode East with the wind at his back along the countryside of Cyrodiil, racing up and down the roads, bridges and bends and encountered nobody, nothing to interrupt his duty... though to be sure, there was truly nothing in the world that could be capable of doing so. He carried the responsibility's entrusted by the Dread Father, and like each of the other Fingers of the Hand, he would see them through. With the help of Arquen's ever faithful hand, he would remove the treachery... the disease that was gradually infecting the Dark Brotherhood's once clean veins. The idea of brothers and sisters being killed now filled him with a cold, barely containable rage... children of the night who had found their purpose as he had, their mortal lives being cut short in Sithis's service by an interloper. While they now served at their Father's side, no longer capable of feeling pain, there was a grave prematurity to it all. It had _not_ been their time... their earthly existence could have developed as his own had. They had not had the chance for advancement of their capability's, to learn, to try their strength around the world, and to see where it got them. Perhaps one or several of the young men and women who had vanished from the land without a trace, so likely murdered, could have one day served with the Black Hand, on the day his own service to the Mother's will in Tamriel came to an end. A future Listener could have been murdered... Speakers... Silencers... and Lucien nor the others would ever know.**  
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They themselves would never know.

The day Maria had disappeared months prior had been the day she was to return from a contract... but she'd not arrived. Not that night, nor any of the nights following. He had personally and for many weeks, searched her final known destination, and there had been not a clue. There was not a trace that she had ever existed, save the chest full of her belongings at the end of her otherwise empty bed... her very set of Shrouded Armour left behind. Ungolim had been unmoved by his report... regarding the incident as a failed contract, he wrote it off so simply that it had inspired rare, true anger in the Speaker towards his Listener. At the rate in which Ungolim behaved, it would only be as more and more were lost to the Void that he would begin to pay attention.

His other children and friends had not only been angered, but frightened. Gogron's anger had been palpable... Vicente's sadness deepened and incomparable, a grandfather mourning for the loss of a granddaughter. Mathieu's hollow eyes empty of light. Gogron and Telaendril had nearly began their own personal investigation, and it was only their devotion to the Five Tenets and loyalty to him that held them in check from attracting attentions to their family... Vicente's sadness scarcely had evaporated, in spite of the passing time, a gloom remained shrouded over the entire Sanctuary, even after the period of mourning. It had perhaps only been Mathieu's opportunity for advancement that had given him cause to take his mind off the matter... but the others remaining behind had not been so fortunate. Even Mraaj Dar, for all the natural grouchiness, the great anger he had possessed that brought him into the fold to begin with, before the disappearance, had somehow become even more bitter in the wake of Maria's departure to the Void. Contracts were fulfilled, of course... they would be until the Sanctuary's dying breath... but it was done so without the zest, the passion that made them what they were... that had brought them to him... a feeling that he had so long ago felt and embraced, that he still felt with every who met his blade, it's power incapable of waning.

They returned to the Sanctuary and scarcely spoke of what would transpire out on their assignments. They didn't bring back the collective energy their family had demonstrated that they needed to function so effectively. Lucien hadn't given the idea any consideration until it had been too late... but to lose even one family member, even knowing the paradise that awaited them... was still exactly that: losing a family member. Each who entered the Sanctuary brought their own quality's, their own unique behaviors... their own piece to the greater puzzle that was life. Maria's piece had been her deceptive innocence. He had watched Brothers and Sisters alike die before his very eyes... many times, each not effecting him so powerfully as hers had. Not for his lack of compassion for his brethren, goodness no... but because he had always so believed in the Void, the reward they would all go to for eternity, he had not considered until this generation the unique importance his brethren possessed _while _they lived. Truthfully, if anything, there had been a trace of envy in him as he had watched other assassins die in his youth... and as such, he had scarcely ever felt the after effects, the consequences for the others who did not possess his particular insights, the lessons his travels had taught him.

So... he _had _learned something in this. It was a lesson he would take to heart, as he had all the others preceding it.

Yet, there was another lost child who cried for Lucien's attention... for the embrace of the Brotherhood... and with each mile of the Black Road that carried him further to the Imperial City, he neared her. Her suffering would come to an end... but not with death as it did most. With acceptance. With l_ove_, should she take it... and Lucien had every reason in the world to believe she would. He had _never_ been _refused_. The Morning Star was not kind to the homeless... to the sick... and the alleys and gutters of the Market District were surely no better. Perhaps it would do something to lift the aura of sadness enveloping the Sanctuary... perhaps this girl, this Antoinetta, would give cause for happiness once more. He had not told the others of the child's looming integration into the family... for he hoped to surprise them. Even Ocheeva and Vicente knew not of his goal. Antoinetta could not possibly replace Maria in their hearts, Lucien was sure... but her own presence may serve as a deterrent to the onset of despair. It was with this hope that he rode... all the while wondering what form she might take in manner... how her years of cruelty inflicted and given might take it's shape. There were some in the world too far gone even for the Brotherhood... but the Night Mother's all knowing voice had spoken, and this girl had been chosen. He had no cause to question this, nor had he ever.

The Night Mother's word was a law beyond all.

The distant grand Aelid architecture of the Imperial City, the White Gold Tower and it's many walls came into view within seemingly no time at all over the trees of Cyrodill, causing him to pause for a moment. Even with the ever familiarity of the sight, it was a breathtaking one, surmounted by the current season. The mists hanging over the river... the grand forests, roads, ruins and paths surrounding the City... it was all so very beautiful, worthy of it's reputation. With a faint smile, he tore his eyes away from the breathtaking landscape and, continuing on, Lucien raced ever forward down the path, the walls growing higher and higher as he encompassed upon the farms, stables and homes along the path outside the city, and came to a sudden stop upon the start of the great bridge over the Rumore Lake doubling for the city moat. Beyond, the Speaker watched the activity and flickering torches on the great city walls... the Imperial Legion's night-watch continuing even in the midst of the snowfall. Plate Armour cladden soldiers spoke to one another at each of their fortified stations, the bridge enveloped in perpetual darkness, and of little concern to them... for only the insane and foolhardy attacked their city. The heavily fortified city would have proven difficult to slip inside at night for most people... but Lachance was not one of them. He dismounted and continued across the bridge on foot, activating the ever beloved invisibility he had long utilized, his robed, hooded form seemingly vanishing from existence, and he passed over the bridge, glancing over the side for a moment as he moved. The river below was flowing rapidly and carrying all the way to the distant Upper Nibben, and by extension, the Night Mother's lovely home of Bravil.

The Speaker at last reached the guard house at the end of the stone bridge, passing the Legion soldiers within warming their gauntleted hands over the fire and laughing amongst themselves. Indeed... even as he entered the city, his sounds entirely muted, he noticed the guards along the districts shivering even beneath the layers of Imperial forged dark steel covering their entire body's, save the eyes and lower portion of their faces beneath the adorned helmets. They huddled beside fires, torches, or simply forced themselves to ignore the weather. The red manes of horsehair affixed to some of their great helmets shifted back in forth in the breeze as if possessing a life and will of it's own screaming out against the cold. As he continued, it became all the more apparent that on this night the curfew was not the only thing keeping all the residents within the walls of Emperor Uriel Septim's great city. Every home he passed along the way was sealed up against the weather, fireplaces blazing and glowing within, family's sleeping before it. The story was very much the same with each district he passed. The Arboretum, with all it's grand statues and unparalleled gardens, held not a single soul, in, even with it's reputation for receiving visitors in the night. In the Temple district, it's many statues covered in whiteness, the purity of the snow, the priests and priestesses had taken to closing it's doors to ward of the elements, perhaps being locked for the first time in many seasons. The only district to defy this pattern was the grand Arena district which was closed up for the night, but even this did little to ward off the obsessed, foolish fans who had taken to sleeping in a group, bundled up entirely, at the very doors of the sealed Arena Bloodworks, even in spite of the cold. The invisible Speaker passed them with a smirk at their amusing... if insane devotion, yet not envying whoever the beloved Grand Champion of the day was.

At last, Lucien Lachance slipped into the empty Market District, making his way to the specified alleyway Ungolim's letter had spoke of, between a store of magic and a building of room and board that catered to the middle classes happily getting ever more drunk within to ignore the weather without. When he stepped into the mouth of the cramped and nearly deserted alley, he dissipated the shroud of invisibility silently, scrutinizing the sight that lay not far before him with a sudden pang of deepened pity resounding through his heart, surprising even for him. He stepped closer, entering the alleyway entirely to gain better perspective, his footfalls inaudible to the alleyway's only dweller.

She was exactly where the Night Mother had known her to be... curled up in a ball in the grime filled gutters running along the boarding house in an attempt to get away from the swirling snow. Unlike the others he had seen at the arena... there was nothing in her possession to ward off the cold... save a paper thin shabby, ripped and faded dress covered in mud that left much of her small legs exposed to the elements, her tiny feet bare. Her long dirty blonde hair, running down over her shoulders like a blanket, was wild and dishevelled, running every which way. The young Breton woman's face was covered almost entirely in purple bruises and long bloody scratches that made her look far older then she was... the flesh not bruised was as sickly pale and clammy as both the snow and death it's self, rivaling even Vicente's incurable tint. She retained some of her natural loveliness nevertheless, even like this... but once properly taken care of, he would not be surprised if she were the very essence of beauty. She could not have been any more then ninety pounds altogether, the way her dress hung from her, her limbs, covered in cuts, scratches and what looked like bites, were so unsettleingly thin... and were it not for the fact that her race was already so naturally small, she would surely have been a skeleton clad in a flesh disguise altogether.  
>Her constant coughs and terrible retching as if her insides were aflame, that made her convulse now and again, were the only things signalling the fact that she was still alive, her blue eyes, save one blackened by the bruises, so very blank and deadened as they peered up emptily at the darkened sky above, as if they belonged to one who lay in the grave. Resignation oozed from every pour of her body as she accepted the fate thrust upon her, the tears that had flown from her very eyes now freezing as they ran down over her hollow, sunken cheeks. Were she left perhaps for another day or two without treatment... perhaps even less, and in this weather... she would surely perish in her sleep... if she were even capable of doing so. Her limp body gazing up at the sky forevermore as the guards carried her to be buried outside the city limits with the others rejected by the harsh reality of the world around them.<p>

The Speaker's thin lips tightened unconsciously, his expression unusually grave for a moment... before turning so very kindly, his eyes warming even and filling with life. It was always at this moment, the moment he extended his offer, that he lived for. Fulfilling his duty as Speaker, and saving one in need of them. When he had become Speaker... he had not expected to enjoy saving a life as he did taking one. The night offered all kinds of lessons. His silhouette moved over closer to the girl, until his very shadow had blanketed her. Feeling his presence, her eyes shot immediately into his direction and she drew back against the gutters fearfully, paralyzed at the sight of the looming, hooded figure that watched her so intently, backed by the eerie moonlight and flurry of snow descending around him, like a creature born of the night.

"Who... who are you?", The young woman's hushed and accented voice managed weakly. It held not the sophistication so natural in a great many Breton's, instead overwhelmed by pain, sorrow and at the edge, naked fear as she watched the robed man, her eyes flickering between the sheathed short-sword at his side and to his hooded face. "P-please... this is my spot... don't hurt me good sir... I have nowhere else to go... I've told you all that a hundred times... w-what do you _want _from me?"

Lucien Lachance tilted his head slightly as he considered the girl... and he smiled warmly, lowering himself down to one knee amidst the grime, causing her to recoil once more. She took in his visible features... her mind numbed with shock. She had expected him to yell perhaps, to strike her as a great many others had... and as he spoke, this shock she felt at his inaction, his tenderness, became all the more evident with each passing word.

"My name is Lucien Lachance... and I've come to take you home, Antoinetta, should you truly desire it", The Speaker whispered almost silkily, his eyes imploring her to calm herself. She was taken at once at the assurance and measure in his voice, even through the agony knifing through her, and hunger overtaking her empty stomach. "We have been watching you for some time... the pain with which you live daily. The terrible crimes and wrongdoings that have been inflicted upon you over your life by those you loved, trusted or hated... indiscriminately. Your grueling time in both a physical prison... and the prison of your own every waking thought. Your life long struggle. There seems no reason for it all to you... I know. No reason to continue. It is a great pleasure for me to be the one to tell you... I have come on behalf of the Night Mother to bring your stumbling to it's permanent close".

"M...mother? Night?"

"The Dark Brotherhood, dear child... surely you have heard of us somewhere in the course of your travels..."

At this well known, feared name, her eyes bulged, lips trembling no longer solely from the temperature. Her shaky breaths produced thick clouds of steam in the night air as her pained lungs quickened.

"You've... you've come to kill me... for what I did... m-...Mister... Lachance?... Y-you've come to end it?"

Lucien smiled lightly, and shook his hooded head.

"In a manner of speaking, yes. Yet not in the way you fear, no, Antoinetta... I have come to reward you for _who_ and _what _you are... for what you have done. To deliver the Dread Father and Unholy Matron's eternal love of their children... the ones who kill on their behalf... the one's who serve their name faithfully, even unconsciously, as you have been for some time."

"T-then what did you mean _home_... i-if not death, an afterlife? I don't... I don't u-understand".

The Speaker studied her more closely, then glanced at the gutter the abused girl lay in. There were the withered remains of a fire that had long ago gone out... but other then this, the only thing that belonged to her was her brown dress. Her unsteady breaths returned his focus at once, and he continued in his proposition.

"There is _always_ a place in our... unique little family for those who murder. For those who _enjoy _it... thrive and quicken through violence and suffering. Our bond was formed through bloodshed since the start", The hooded man explained to her as gently as possible. "I am a Speaker for the Black Hand you see... the ruling body of the Dark Brotherhood... and as such, I represent one particular family amongst all the others spread across the entirety of Tamriel... that of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary just East of here. There is a place with us for those damned and outcast by society... damned by their very nature... and the Night Mother has heard your prayers. Has heard your longings. I am here to answer them on her behalf. You have suffered far too greatly, and for far too long. One of my most pleasurable duties, amongst many others, is the recruitment, the salvation of those like you... by offering you a place within our halls. You grow tired of living as you do... a mere shade of the great woman you could yet be, given the chance... desperately trying to survive the passing of each day with unimaginable hunger and sickness, dark desires, loneliness and sorrows. You can stop now... and you can join in with the love of our family... in a world where you can be _happy_ forevermore."

Antoinetta Marie gazed back blankly into the Imperial's dark, purposeful eyes, her heart thudding like a Bard's drum in her ears as she gradually grasped the intent behind his genuine words. She watched with disbelief, fascination even, as he carefully extended a gloved hand down her way, leaving it outstretched for her to take, his eyes so very loving like his manner, and he smiled again, nearly sending a physical spasm through her body. A body which, in spite of her sickness, became gradually more alive at his offer, her small chest rising and falling beneath her raggedy dress.

"Don't be afraid... I'm going to give you the choice... I too once had to make so long ago. Take my hand, and I will show you a different way. A path that will lead you to fulfillment, nourishment and belonging amongst your true peers who also hide and dwell in the shadows as no other can... your true _brothers_ and _sisters _who will take care of you. I know that life... has no meaning for you anymore... but what if I could give it back? Take away the misery... the despair, and give you something more and infinity greater? Join my family, dearest child of Sithis... leave these gutters behind, and I promise you will awake from your perpetual stalking nightmare, and truly_ live_ for the first time in your _life_."

The young woman peered up at the extended hand... a hand that intended to pull her from death's doorstep, looked between it, and his honest, alluring, stubble lined face... his caring intent... so very different from those of the rough faced guards when they came to her in the night... those who had used her. He was so very different from those who had before tricked her with illusions of honesty and understanding. She knew, even then, that this was the genuine thing... she wasn't sure how she did... it merely _was_. Slowly, further tears began to well in her eyes as she was overtaken with her rawest emotion, and they leaked down freely over her grime touched face in a river to rival the Nibben. She raised a delicate, deathly pale hand and clasped his firm gloved one tightly, never wishing to let go as she wept silently, a pang resounding through her heart.

"Yes... _yes_. Please... kind sir", She whispered shakily without any measure of hesitation, forcing herself to swallow and take a deep breath in spite of herself, her soaked eyes beginning to glow again with life as she gasped. "_Please _take me out of here."

At once, Lucien Lachance gently raised her back up to her exposed feet, leaving the grime of the gutter beneath her, in spite of it's attempts to cling to her, to pull her back. When she stood upright, after recovering her balance, as if her legs had forgotten their purpose, her thin arms reached out and enveloped their way around his midsection, and she continued to weep pressed against his chest for a long time. His gloved hand stroked her matted hair soothingly, and he let her get it out, or as much as was possible in their current grim surroundings. She smelled of death... a scent so long associated with the children he had collected, and it pleased him. Eventually, when she had subsided, the Speaker tilted her head back, and his hand moved to her face, wiping away the tears that had collected there... and at last, her pale lips managed to break into a genuine smile. Her eyes flickered to the front of his beautiful midnight black robes, spotting the stains of grime her embrace had left behind on him and an embarrassed, shameful flush came to her cheeks, accentuated by the bruises, and she averted her eyes hastily.

"S-sorry... I shouldn't have... I'm a complete mess, kind sir... I'm-

"Do not apologize... or shed tears any longer, dear child... that time in your life is gone.", His low, powerful voice informed her reassuringly as he drew back his hand, paying no attention to the stains, willing her to look back up at him. "The moment we leave this alley... you will begin anew. Do not look backwards... but forwards, to the future that awaits you".

"I... I shan't, Mister Lachance", Antoinetta whispered back, the life that had quickened in her heart beginning to filter into her voice and translate. Against her wishes, her body forced her to cough several more times painfully before she could regain control of herself. "But... how... how are we going to leave the city? To this... S-sanctuary?"

"A little magic, and by horse", He told her simply, still holding her hand carefully, raising it a little further between them. "Do not let go of my hand until we have reached the outskirts of the city."

He may as well have been asking her if it were snowing. The moment she had taken it, she had never had the slightest intention of letting it go. She nodded at once. Lucien lowered his free hand down into one of his pockets and produced a twin pair of tiny bottles, one containing a powerful blue liquid, the other a viscous red. Antoinetta had seen such variety's in the shop windows of the Market's Alchemy store quite a few times... not that she had ever been one able to afford them for herself.

"First, however, there is the alarming matter of your health... and the plummeting of the temperature around us", Lachance continued, passing the bottles over to her, and she turned them over, examining each carefully. "The blue bottle contains a remedy for the cold... it should last at least several hours... long enough for us to reach Cheydinhal I am sure... the red bottle will take care of your illnesses long enough to receive better treatment then I alone can provide here. Vicente Valtieri... that is to say, one of your new brothers, is far more capable in this regard then I... but it shall be enough to rejuvenate you for an adequate period of time".

Antoinetta cleared her throat silently, her focus turning first to the red bottle. She uncapped the lid carefully, and raised the bottle to her lips, tilting back her head. The contents rushed forward at once, containing an overwhelmingly bitter, medicinal taste that nearly made her choke and gag... but nevertheless, she forced herself to swallow it. It took little time for the effects to become apparent, the unbearable pain filtering through her stomach becoming less so as the potion's contents swirled through her. She took a little more time before moving to the next bottle, breathing deeply as the coughs subsided gradually. Dropping the spent bottle to the ground, she drank from the next even quicker then she had the former... for it's taste was not so bitter as the former. The blue liquid held a sort of pleasing warmth to it, rather like tea, that coursed down her system and began to spread, overwhelming even the harsh weather, the goosebumps along her arms vanishing quickly as if the fire she had made had suddenly leap back to life. Wiping her mouth with her short, tattered sleeve, she dropped the bottle down with the other and returned her attention to the hooded man, who had suddenly become rather grim faced and humorless.

"Secondly, as our newest sister... I will recite the rules by which you must swear to live by henceforth... in your new family"

"_Anything_", Antoinetta answered without hesitation, nearly spent of breath. "_Anything _at all..."

"Understand this: to break any one of them is to incur the wrath of Sithis personified.", The Speaker warned seriously, scarcely even blinking. His voice was as low and cold as shaved ice. Antoinetta sensed his transformed demeanor... it went not only beneath the surface of his flesh, but through his entire being... a cold that surpassed the weather. Even then in her dizzied state, she knew just how much the Brotherhood meant to him, and how seriously he took his role. There was nothing kindly in him as he spoke now... only an inflexible devotion and purpose... a power that frightened her as much as it attracted her. "The Five Tenets are the laws that guide and protect us. To break them, is to incur _my _wrath as well".

"I understand", her hushed voice replied quickly, nodding her head and biting at her lower lip habitually.

"Then heed my warning and words carefully, child of Sithis: Tenet one: _Never_ dishonor the Night Mother. Tenet two: _Never_ betray the Dark Brotherhood or it's secrets. Tenet three: _Never_ disobey, or refuse to carry out an order from a Dark Brotherhood superior. Tenet four: _Never_ steal the possessions of a Dark Brother or Dark Sister. Tenet five: _Never _kill a Dark Brother or Dark Sister. What have you to say to these conditions? Will you take a vow to our service?"

Antoinetta Marie stared back into those muddy hazel eyes, and knew the intelligent choice to make at once. Never to give him reason to hate her. Yet, it was not solely fear that motivated her response... indeed, after having lived with the possibility of death so long, that wasn't it at all. It was the aura... the aura she had felt the moment he had spoken to her, the smooth implicitness in his voice, perhaps, that had comforted her, even after all the days preceding this one. Her answer came swiftly as if she had spoken it numerous times already, and with complete honesty.

"On my word... o-on my life, I vow to uphold the Dark Brotherhood, S-sithis, and the Night Mother... to my dying breath."

She remained under his scrutiny for a long moment, as if he were delving into her mind. The wind whispered around them on all sides of the alleyway, and finally, he nodded, clearly satisfied with her words.

"_Excellent_. You will learn more of your role within our organization via your new family members. Now, I will perform a simple enough incantation that will render both of us invisible... so long as we maintain a physical touch. It will be an experience you perhaps have never been through. Your entire body will not only vanish to others... but to your own eyes as well. It will be rather disconcerting at first... but I can guide you. Do not even speak until we are outside the City... do not make a noise as you walk... for the guards will know at once. Follow my lead, Dark Brotherhood Murderess, and you shall be safe".

"By your word... my Speaker", The young murderess answered with an ever widening smile at the title he had entrusted upon her. "You will it... I shall perform it... in S-sithis's name".

"I believe you are going to fit in with our family rather well, dear child", Lucien responded quite smoothly, expression pleased at her quickness, the warmth returning to his eyes. In spite of her weakened state, she had begun to recover her mind, now that purpose, a clear goal, had been passed along to her. Still holding her hand, he took a small step to the side, turning them around in the direction of the alley's opening. "Now try to prepare yourself... take a deep breath and relax. A curious sensation will pass over you and remain until I break the spell... you will adapt quickly".

Antoinetta did as instructed, closing her eyes, and breathing deeply. In spite of the pain it induced... it was the sweetest one she had ever taken, and she was lulled into an unusual tranquillity.

Her eyes shot open at once as the curious sensation began, pooling in her hand and expanding up over her forearm. She watched as their joined hands were overtaken in a field of white energy that sent ripples up her bare, and his covered, arms. The feeling was like liquid static, her hairs standing up on end... but wasn't unpleasant. There was a curious tingling warmth to it that, coupled with the blue potion, defied the cold, expanding outward in two different directions, spreading over their upper and lower bodies like ripples on a pond. As the glowing energy spread, it's path was preceded by the sight... or lack of sight, that Lucien had warned her of. Their outstretched arms vanished at the same time, replaced by the cobblestones and shrubbery nearly covered by the snow of the alley, followed by their respective midsections, and finally, the rest of their bodies.

The young Breton had been reduced to a pair of floating, invisible eyes, and it frightened her for a moment... the absence of body, but nevertheless, she _felt _her bare feet pressing firmly into the ground, her damp hair settling over her shoulders... Lucien's comforting grip on her hand... and in spite of the unnerving nature of this out of body, yet in body experience... she focused her attention on his hold, which tightened it's grip reassuringly, as if reading her concerned thoughts.

"You will adapt", His low, disembodied voice repeated to her quietly, and said no more for the remainder of the journey out of the city limits.

Antoinetta felt him gently pull her from where they stood, leading her out of the dark alley, and into the faint light of the torches hanging outside many of the shops. The moment they stepped out from that space between the buildings and continued on down the streets, she heeded his words and did not look back at the grime she was parting from.

The journey out of the Imperial City was slow, yet utterly exhilarating for the young Breton, who, although having performed magic before, had never experienced any so advanced as this. It was one thing to cast a little fireball, or freeze something with the touch of her fingers... but to harness pure focus and ability in cloaking one's self from all? There was no comparison possible for her to make. They stopped now and again to let an oblivious heavily armoured member of the Watch pass by on the street ahead of them. Every guard and building they passed filled Antoinetta with another inkling of joy... every street and district they left behind... for every step they made propelled her into another life. No more would she experience the hardships of the Imperial City... the scorn of the upper classes or indifference of the middle. She knew a little of the Brotherhood, as all others did... and as part of her new life... there was always the chance she could have her revenge... on those few who gotten away with wronging her.

The thought formed another invisible smile for the briefest of moments. The buildings retreated like a stream behind her... and soon, the very walls joined them as they stepped out onto the great stairs overlooking the main bridge out of the city, glimpsing the white forests that stretched for miles beyond it. Her pulse pounded furiously in her ears, and she silently willed Lucien to pick up the pace, her fingers clasping tighter to his. He returned the gesture tenderly, but kept them moving at the same careful speed over the bridge, passing an occupied guardhouse. The homes outside the city walls, at the far end of the bridge, rapidly grew closer, including the stables and farms that supplied the Imperials fresh crops. She had expected him to stop at the stables, and was instead surprised when he continued by them, passing not only the farms, but a well occupied noisy Inn at the side of the road catering to members of the Watch, continuing on for quite sometime down the main road. It was only when the Imperial City bridge had dropped out of sight around the following bend, that Lachance led them to the side of the road just behind a dense bush, safely away from any of the guards that might glimpse them. In spite of the snow covering her bare feet, it was as if she were walking through grains of sand covering a beach... and the thought was a lovely one.

"That should prove sufficient distance, I think", Lucien Lachance's disembodied voice finally spoke again with assurance, and she felt his hand release hers, as well as an unexpected wave of disappointment. "No sense in traveling further on foot then we must."

The moment he had released her, the invisibility that had shrouded her in safety dissipated in the blink of an eye... one second it did not exist, while the next her body was returned to the world, returned to her eyes. Antoinetta examined her limbs again as if she had never truly seen them before, grateful for their return, and then she smiled, peering up at her robed saviour.

"I'll have to learn that trick sometime", The young woman resolved firmly with a shrug of her thin shoulders. "It clearly seems to come in handy"

Lachance smiled right back at her slightly as the young woman gazed about their forest surroundings, and the main, empty road leading out of the Imperial City. The city, although still very much visible between the trees, was now partially hidden behind the ever expanding mass of creeping mist forming over the lake around it, supplemented by the darkness of the night and the purity of the moons lights... it made for an oddly lovely sight, she noted to herself.

"It does indeed", The Speaker agreed quietly, watching the young woman carefully as she continued to look around, as if expecting somebody else to join them. Seeing nothing, Antoinetta looked back to him, her expression suddenly puzzled. "Is anything the matter, child?"

"No, Mister Lachance...", She said swiftly with a shake of her head, then paused. "I... well I thought for a moment back there that we were going to stop at the stables, I suppose... I believe you said something about a... a horse?"

"I most certainly did", Lucien answered quite calmly, turning his eyes away from her, and to a particular spot amongst the snow not several feet away. "However, my steed does not require one... I should think".

Antoinetta Marie followed his shadowed eyes with confusion, glancing between the spot on the ground and the hooded man.

"What do you mean, good sir?"

"I mean, dear child, that my steed exists courtesy of the everlasting Void all darkness dwells within... not a stable or breeding", He answered, his voice no more then a carrying whisper, and with that cryptic statement, he raised a hand again, pointing to the spot, his gloved index finger aiming at it as if passing judgement. "And I need but will the Void to open it's self, and bring my companion to me."

Nothing happened for a moment... or so Antoinetta thought as she watched what happened next unfold. It became apparent rather quickly to her, however... that the snow covering a large circular section had begun to run together and melt, the lush foliage, grass and wilted flowers beneath become visible once more as if the seasons were passing before her very eyes, which began to widen with surprise. As suddenly as the spot of snow had melted, the lovely greenery beneath quite suddenly burst into leaping red and orange flames and embers that danced and flared and flickered with maniacal seemingly sentient delight and vibrancy. Surrounded by snow on all sides, the fire did not spread beyond the magical circle, and Antoinetta watched the foliage being overcome beneath the dark smoke and glowing lights that filled the side of the road, illuminating them each in the glow. Lucien's silhouette had vanished in the light, revealing his pleased face for a split second before the darkness returned, the fire gradually dying down and leaving only a black scorched burn prevalent amongst the ground... which was even now beginning to transfigure it's self unsettleingly at the caster's will. The light wind that had been passing through the trees, shifting their branches back and forth quickened, rushing to meet the pair at the side of the road, and sending Antoinetta's unkempt hair billowing every which way like a blonde wedding veil.

Against herself, Antoinetta stepped backwards behind Lucien, clasping his free arm with both of hers and peering around his shoulder, ashamed at her own fears. The ashes on the ground seemed to run together and join with the large burned spot, forming it's self into what almost looked like a thick black puddle of boiling tar, a constant stream of small bubbles rising to the surface and exploding, growing more powerful and rapid with each second. There came then a sound as the bubble's mass increased... from within the pit of tar... yet seemingly from within the very earth it's self. The sound was muffled and distorted, but it passed into Antoinetta's ear, giving her pause, what it was, unmistakable. Hoofs beat against whatever dreadful path it rode up to meet them. Black smoke began to rise from the depths of the bubbling pit, hiding much of it from view, the steady hoof beats growing all the more clear and loud... until they stopped at long last.

From the darkness, there came an unparalleled steed the likes of which Antoinetta, perhaps the entirety of Tamriel, had never seen before, and at this she shivered, letting go of Lucien and stepped further backwards, her cracked lips parting. It's eyes were the first thing she saw... for they glowed like demonic red beams of light through the haze and into the depths of her very soul as the entity emerged from the smoke, snorting and rising on it's hind hoofs and beating at the air, whinnying all the while, it's shrill voice carrying through the night that had spawned it. It's fur and hair was as midnight black as the robes Lucien occupied, and it had come already saddled. When it lowered it's self back on all fours, it stood tall amidst the swirling contrast and purity of the snowflakes, in all it's terrible glory, before it's master with loving familiarity, which he quickly returned in his pleased smile, stepping over closer to it, a hand drawing up from his side. Antoinetta held back amongst the snow, watching the scene silently. The bubbling tar beneath it had transfigured back into the scorched patch of ground it had been before, which it's self would soon be covered back up beneath the snow as the warmth died down. Lucien petted the otherworldly horse affectionately, drawing into his robes and producing for it a shiny red apple and offering it. The offer was quickly taken from his gloved hand, the affectionate crunches of the apple filling the air until they fell short.

The Speaker leaned closer to it and seemed to murmur to it, conferring with it serenely. Lucien continued to run his hands through the horses thick hair until he turned back to Antoinetta, standing tentatively off to the side, as if noticing her for the first time. He smiled and waved her forward encouragingly at once, which, in spite of the pounding in her heart as she gazed into it's eyes, she obeyed to, her tiny pale feet carrying her closer to Lachance's side. Once there, his hand dipped to her lower back, gently coaxing the hesitant Breton girl to stand entirely before it, to present herself to it. The horse peered back at her, it's soulless alien eyes unknowable to her.

"What... what is it, Mister Lachance? Where did he come from?"

"_She_, is Shadowmere, dear child", Lucien corrected and informed her, both of them peering upon the undead horse, Antoinetta with fear yet surmounting curiosity, Lachance with nothing less then deepened pride. Glancing back, he caught the anxiety in her eyes, and shook his head a single time. "She cannot age, and she cannot die. Do not be afraid of her appearance... she is one of us, a servant of the Dread Father... and will take us _home_".

Antoinetta took a deep breath that did little to steady her apprehension, which again was noticed by Lachance, who sought to put her at ease.

"Go on and pet her... she is gentle _only_ to those who treat her with the respect she merits".

"A-am I one of these people she would be gentle to?"

"There is but one way to find out, my child... go on."

At this suggestion, Antoinetta gradually obeyed, extending a shaky, pale hand out to meet the horse's mane, running her fingers through it's smooth tuff of hair. It released another snort that sent another spasm of trepidation through her heart... but she quickly recovered and, surprising her self, uttered a laugh as the horse surprised her first. It had drawn back it's head slightly, and was beginning to run it's warm, smooth tongue along the palm of her hand, apparently having deemed her worthy of her master's companionship. Once one got used to it's appearance, Antoinetta noticed as she continued to pet it, Lachance standing to the side smiling benignly, there was nothing too offsetting about it... the eyes excluded of course, but even that could be overlooked by the fact that at least it actually _blinked _like a normal horse.

"There you go... she like's you, as I thought she would... and she is as good a character judge as the Night Mother".

"But how... how did you get her?", Antoinetta asked perplexedly, running her hands up and down along the bridge of it's great nose. She pressed her head closer to it as it nuzzled her, the limp strands of her wind swept hair brushing slightly across the otherworldly horses muzzle and face, something it did not mind in the slightest... for if anything, it seemed to enjoy as much. "I d-doubt you all ride horses like this... ah... or _do _you?"

"No... we do not", Lucien answered her at once, stroking his stubble shaded chin unconsciously as he thought back. "I was given her in my youth... as a reward for a particularly difficult and important contract completed. A soul send screaming to the Void. Messy business, that one".

Antoinetta tore her alit eyes away from the magnificent beast at once, her deathly pale face clearly interested at this vague mention of death.

"Contract? What happened?... a contract for who?", The youthful, and therefore deeply curious, Breton enquired, but suddenly remembered to who she addressed this question... and her new role in life. "... uh, if I may ask, Speaker".

"Of course you may... but I scarcely ever have the adequate time to speak of my lengthy career", Lucien informed her quietly, but smiled nonetheless and chose to briefly indulge her curiosity. He spoke distantly as he made his way to Shadowmere's side, a hand rising to the large saddle that lay atop. "I'll just tell you that the opportunity for King slaying does not come up for every family member... remember that... but back to the business at hand..."

Antoinetta's eyes bulged as widely as they had when his had extended his hand to her with his offer, and her lips parted, as if on the verge of asking a thousand further questions, but quickly thought better of it, and closed her mouth. Instead, she watched as the hooded Speaker rose a single leg up, his booted foot entering the stirrup, and with his arms moving back to the saddle, pulled himself up into the seat, taking the reigns into his left hand. He peered down at the astonished young girl at Shadowmere's flank, and, face submerged in darkness, offered his hand down again. She took it at once delicately, glancing over to the stirrup and placing a bare foot in it as Lucien boosted her up, pulling her onto the seat behind him before readjusting both hands to the reigns. Shadowmere moved from the side of the Black Road without even a command, stepping slowly back onto it, heavy hoofs clapping against the dirt and snow.

"Hold-

He felt the embrace of her thin, child-like arms before the words had even escaped from his lips, already wrapped tightly around his waist and locking together together, the unmistakable press of her head against his back, nuzzling into his warm robes. His thin lips betrayed an ungovernable smirk at her courage that she could not see.

"... on tightly, dear child.", Lachance finished his sentence nevertheless, raising the reigns at last, with purpose. "We cannot have you falling off somewhere along the way... such a shame that would be. We journey East".

The Speaker waited for no reply from her, and spurred his steed into motion. Shadowmere released a great carrying whinny as she rose up on her hind legs again, Antoinetta's uttering a surprised gasp, yet did not fall as the horse burst into movement, going faster and faster until she moved easily with far more speed and grace then the finest horses belonging to the Imperial Legion. Antoinetta's grip tightened around his midsection unconsciously, the wind rushing to meet them as they tore up the next dip in the road, rounding each bend. For the entirety of the journey to Cheydinhal, Antoinetta scarcely opened her eyes, yet remained awake all the while in spite of her body's exhaustion.

When she did open her eyes quite some time later and looked out over the countryside... it was somewhere along the Red Ring Road that she did so, her head rising slightly in the direction of the fading backdrop that had held the story of her life until only now. The glow she had felt taking her Speaker's hand resounded again as powerfully as it had before. The towering sight of the Imperial City, and by extension it's lake... across which she glimpsed the Imperial sewer system she knew all to well that led right out into it, was a rapidly fading view... one that made her eyes sting with fresh tears as she peered back to Lucien's shrouded form in front of her, listened to the galloping of undead horse that rode them through the snow filled night.

No longer would they be the tears of pain or sorrow.

* * *

><p><em><strong><span>Welcome to the Family<span>**_

Their journey to Cheydinhal went uninterrupted and entirely on schedule, to Lucien's satisfaction. By the time they were reaching the end of the Blue Road, Antoinetta's potions were finally beginning to wear off, and the sun was beginning it's ascension behind the clouds. She shivered at his back like the last leaf of a dying tree, teeth beginning to chatter together in spite of her best efforts to control them, with the occasional yet ever increasing rough coughing fits that spurred him on. It had snowed the entire night, and was continuing to snow, when they had reached the hilly terrain outside the eastern gate of the City, closest to the Sanctuary, but the resistance he had developed to it over his years spent in the land of the North, to say nothing of his uniform, rendered the cold meaningless... though the same could not be said for Antoinetta. There were no guards stationed at the Eastern gate of the city in the early hours of the morning, as per his little... _arrangement_, with the Dunmer Count of Cheydinhal... who although foolish, was not so foolish as to cross the Family that had existed before he had been born. Nevertheless, the fact Lucien still lived in his field of work meant that precautions were and always would be taken. Prideful indulgences and arrogance had never and would never have a place in his world. He stopped Shadowmere up in the woods that led to Fort Farragut, just near the eastern gate, but out of it's sight just in case.

Dismounting from the steed, Lucien helped the steadily weakening young murderess off the saddle, and she clung to him tightly for warmth at once amongst the deep snow, shivering against him. The Speaker turned them back to Shadowmere, and whispered instructions to her, that were obeyed at once. She sped up through the forest until vanishing behind a grove of trees, bound for their home at Fort Farragut. His hand moving down to her slender, even bony, waist, Lucien reactivated the shroud of invisibility, guiding Antoinetta from the thick woods and down towards the outer perimeter of the city. Reaching the main gate, Lucien grasped the great handles of the unlocked doors, and, with a tug, they sprung forth, revealing the beautiful, sprawling city of Cheydinhal, free from the walls that had hid most of it. Stepping into the interior, Lucien sealed up the doors behind them, and continued south down the cobble stone road, passing only a single home... and to Lucien's continued satisfaction, none of the city's guards.

By now, they had reached the towering church, easily rivalling the Count's own castle in not only size, but the quality of the architecture. Beyond it, the long river courtesy of the Niben Basin, dividing the town in half, was already frozen solid beneath each of the small wooden bridges overlooking it. They came then to a lone house situated on the edge of Cheydinhal, near the church and it's graveyard, and at last stopped. Antoinetta's invisible eyes studied the yard closely, widening even to spite the pain. The dilapidated old home had been long abandoned from the look of it, it's tiny gate scarcely even clinging to it's hinges any longer, the snow encrusted stone wall dividing the yards having begun to fall apart as well. There was a rusty well just beyond it that lay in the perimeter of the backyard, nearly buried from sight in the snow. The front door and windows had been, for the most part, boarded up... but even these were beginning to loosen.

"T-this is the s-Sanctuary, Speaker?", The freezing girl's disembodied voice whispered incredulously. "I- ...it's been abandoned f-for years from the l-look of it."

"Indeed so", came Lucien's low, distinct tone, himself speaking quietly into her ear, the warmth pleasant to her flesh. "And look's can be so very deceiving... can they not? You will find that theatricality plays a role in your new life... and you would do well to remember that, come your first eventual contract. You see an abandoned house, Dark Sister... the guards and fine citizens of this beautiful city, see an abandoned house... but the Brotherhood sees past the illusions it threads together and suspends upon the unwitting and the unworthy."

With this cryptic statement, Antoinetta felt her Speaker take a satisfied breath, continuing to move them, the rickety gate creaking and seemingly opening of it's own accord... pushed by the wind, were there a casual observer present, and her own immensely sore and cold feet followed suit, holding him even tighter as they stepped into the yard, making their wait to the front door. Lucien's invisible gloved hand clasped the handle firmly, and with a light push, the door creaked open as the gate had, revealing a dark, barren interior within, scarcely warmer then the temperature outside. They moved inside swiftly, Lucien closing the door up behind them, and brought them across a shabby mat and to the centre of the room, disenchanting the spell that hid them. Antoinetta found her arms wrapped about the robed man's covered midsection again as they returned to her, and, glancing up hesitantly into his piercing, yet amused eyes, found a deep flush rising to her bruised face, and looked away, unable to draw back from his warmth.

Lucien looked away from the child of Sithis at his side, peering about the room, with it's overturned broken chairs and empty, cracked barrels amongst the few things occupying that level. Yet his gaze moved not to the staircase as Antoinetta's had, but purposefully to the small wooden door of the basement. He led her into the dank basement, again closing the door behind himself almost immediately. Unlike the main room of the house, which had only begun to receive the pale light of the sun hiding behind the snow clouds... it was, to Antoinetta's surprise that is was well illuminated by several mounted lanterns, each possessing a fresh candle within. It was warmer in here, by far, then she had expected... and finding the sensation returning to her limbs, she relinquished her hold on Lucien's robes, resigning herself to holding on to his arm again as they moved. Leading her down over a small, cracked stone stairwell... it was this very light that revealed the purposeful flaw not created by coincidence, but through purpose.

An incomplete hole lay in the wall, the stones pulled back to reveal not a blank wall of dirt and rock... but a tunnel on the other side, dug so very long ago. Lucien did not stop to take in the sight, continuing forward, and, upon reaching it, helping her through the initial entrance. Antoinetta's already dirty feet passed over the pebble encrusted floor with renewed vigor, her heart beginning to pound rapidly again in her ears... now with more excitement then actual fear. Rounding one final bend, descending down the pathway, the Speaker at last stopped them in the tunnel, turning back to her and waiting for her to catch a glimpse at the source producing the different quality of light that lay just ahead of them.

Red light washed over the Speaker and his new Murderess, courtesy of a sealed door at the end of the littered tunnel unlike any other she had ever seen. It was made of stone, tall and looked as though it belonged to a cathedral or castle with a large metal knocker... but it was not this that caught her attention at once. It was an artistic design painstakingly chiseled on to the door like ancient symbols... for all she knew, they were, that stood out the most even at her distance from them. A terrible hand, from around which emanated the scarlet beams of light like a bloody sun, sat imprinted in the centre of a leering skull's forehead. There were other designs below it she could scarcely make out, and Antoinetta started for it, somehow feeling enchanted and entranced by it's otherworldly aura... until a familiar shadow stepped in front of her, removing his welcome, supportive arm from her waist and barring her path quite suddenly, recapturing her focus from the eerie door. Lucien's face, while not as stern as it had been upon reciting the Tenets to her, was still very much intent.

"One cannot simply walk into the Sanctuary without first speaking the required words, dear child", He informed her calmly, motioning a hand back in it's direction. "You will approach the entrance of the Sanctuary, and it will ask you a simple question."

"A- ask me, Speaker?", Antoinetta asked shakily, biting down on her lip tightly as she gazed ahead at the seemingly pulsating red hand, her eyes alit and glinting from the scarlet glow, she ran her hands nervously through the great mane of her tangled hair. "A door... _asking _me something?"

"_Yes_. Upon acknowledgement, answer thusly: 'Sanguine, my Brother'... and you will be granted admittance into our halls."

"It will... be done, Speaker".

Antoinetta paused again, collecting herself, the words rolling around inside her mind like fluid... and at last, when certain she was ready, Lucien stepped out of her path, motioning again up the length of the tunnel. She stepped past him slowly, sore feet rising up the rocky path carefully, avoiding any of the sharp shards amongst them. The Dark Sister was distantly aware that the shadowy presence behind her now followed, yet kept several paces behind. This was something she would have to do now on her own... something that many before her had already done... and she gladly held the responsibility, at last stopping before the glowing entrance, her eyes flickering to the remainder of the artwork chiseled beneath the predominant skull and hand. A dark haired ancient woman loomed over four tiny figures bowing together or praying before her, a hairless thing... a child, Antoinetta supposed with some disquiet, held lovingly to her breast. In her free hand, the woman... perhaps the Night Mother, now that she considered it... was outstretching something from which dark droplets poured, the praying things eagerly pawing at it as it dropped down into to their collective gaping mouths... swallowing darkness...

She was paying so much attention to the alien meaning behind the bizarre etchings, that she nearly jumped and fell backwards when a voice came to her that resonated from within the very door, and spilled outwards, filling the tunnel with its low, whispery rasp that held no vestiges of humanity. Antoinetta's heart thundered in her ears, a cold chill settling over her insides, and her eyes were immediately drawn to the unmoving skull looming down on her from whom perhaps the words emanated.

**"_What_... i_s the colour... of night?"_**

The whisper fell silent, awaiting her answer, prepared to pass it's judgement. Antoinetta resisted the urge to recoil, and struggled to keep the shakiness from her voice as she gave the answer with clarity.

"Sanguine, my Brother".

Nothing happened for a moment or so... and Antoinetta's eyes began to widen in suspense. She glanced backwards at Lachance, unsure whether or not she'd done something wrong. His pleased expression, followed by the sudden sounds of the doorway unsealing it's self from the stone and opening widely before her, was the only thing she needed to see. Her breaths were laboured as she searched beyond the empty doorway... the tunnel leading beyond it... and the no longer bare interior at it's end.

"Welcome to the Family, Child of Sithis", Lachance's low, enticing voice murmured from her side as he rejoined her, taking her shaky hand into his thoroughly steady one once more, and it relaxed like his at once.

**_"Welcome... Home"_**, the whispery voice agreed with him from all around them, it's true source, Antoinetta could not fathom, nor was she too interested in discovering.

Lucien took the lead once more, and carefully, they stepped through the doorway and at last entered the Sanctuary. As they passed down the small remainder of the tunnel, there was a creaking, to which Antoinetta's gaze shot backwards for a split second, as the doorway automatically slammed it's self shut once more, sealing it's self back into the stone. Again, Lucien redrew her attention back to the Sanctuary, the home, ahead of them.

Exiting the tunnel at last, the contents of the underground Sanctuary's long main hall were revealed to her, Antoinetta carefully glancing about as they passed over a large circular rug laying before the entrance, at least three of these such rugs laying across the floor, Lucien gradually bringing them to a stop. The atmosphere contrasted to the crypt-like appearance of the place, the sensation neither cold nor unwelcoming. There were at least eight wide stone pillars rising all the way to the roof, ahead, each evenly spaced apart from one another. Cast iron lanterns and powerful torches hung overhead, in unison with the tall candle holders spaced around the floor, revealing a dusty wooden table complete with chairs to their immediate left. Ceremonial banners, each illuminated by a candle holder of their own, displayed the unmistakable design of a large black hand that looked like it had imprinted into ink, standing out in the centre of a white oval, and surrounded by a sea of scarlet. There was another table, smaller then the one to her left, like one in a drawing room. resting to the side of one of the pillars, displaying books and, to Antoinetta's momentary surprise, at least until she remembered the company she was now with, a human skull, grinning back up at them.  
>It was beside this table that Lucien had stopped them at. Above, the rocky and stone architecture seemed to crisscross over one another, unifying, and easily holding up the ground over top of it, fresh and withered cobwebs spun in every corner. There were some brown wooden dressers, their surfaces, like the stone of the floor, were cracked yet overall quite sturdy. There were at least two pairs of unified great doors that she could see in the hall, one on the right hand side of her, the other on the same side as the table and it's many alit candles, leading to other unknown sections of the Brotherhood headquarters in the form of two sets of closed double doors. The young Breton gazed around the Sanctuary in breathless wonder, her bruised face alit, the depth of her pain momentarily forgotten. That all this had been hidden underground, buried, in essence, away from the people of of Cheydinhal... this underground world of infamous renown, was more then she could have fathomed, had she not been standing in the centre of it, her hand clasping the one who ruled it. How long had it taken to build this wonder in secret? Who had built it to begin with, and when? How far back did it all go?<p>

How long to clear not only the dirt and rocks, but to carve into it? To produce the architecture that it had, to bring in the furnishings as well? Antoinetta knew about the Brotherhood as much as any outsider... which was quite little... but to glimpse this, to realize the sheer scale of the resources and will to undertake such a building... and to consider that there were Sanctuary's such as this were spread across Tamriel... she knew even before entering that she had made the right choice, in simply seeing the honesty in Lucien's face... but nothing, not even the door, could prepare her for this realization of what she was now apart of. A home... though to be honest, one she held some nervousness, some trepidation about being in. Taking a breath, she forewent her inward anxiety's, gripping tighter upon her Speaker's hand, her attention turning back to him at once.

"H-how did you build all this?", Her soft voice whispered with disbelief, eyes widening. "I-it's a fortress under the ground!"

Lucien smiled a thin lipped one, his eyes resting not on her, but ahead of himself.

"It was not _I _who built it, dear child... but faithful brothers and sisters of century's passed into Darkness.", The Speaker answered, and motioned his free hand ahead of himself that Antoinetta's gaze followed, waving somebody forward. "So very much like the one's of this Sanctuary, these ones you will come to know very well".

In her transfigured state at the abruptness of her seemingly otherworldly surroundings, she had not noticed the trio of humanoid shapes standing near the end of the Sanctuary hall, around which there was an unexplored bend. They had been standing down the hall talking to one another in deep conversation, themselves having noticed the unexpected arrival of the newcomers and falling silent, one robed, hooded and known, the other with wild blonde hair, in a dirty, shredding dress, completely unknown to them.  
>Antoinetta bit down on her lower lip again, which by now was swollen, the pain forcing her to clamp her teeth together instead away from it, as she studied the looming unfamiliar faces. The first of the three, who was also the first to begin moving away from the others and down in their direction, was, Antoinetta realized, an Argonian woman, enveloped in some kind of light dark armour, it's details visible in the candles she passed. It was a full body suit of sorts, numerous straps, belts and buckles crisscrossing down across it's front and around each limb. The knees, just above a pair of long boots, possessed metal guards, while the Argonian's arms seemed to be bound up tightly in the strange material, a pair of dark gloves connected to the suit. Adorned to her right shoulder, there was a single armoured pad, the increasingly familiar symbol of a black hand imprinted on to it. Around the surface of the armour's upper chest and collar, the dark material seemed to shift a few shades, and betray a dark purple of sorts. In her belt, at her side, she carried her weapon... a sheathed dagger of sorts.<p>

Although Antoinetta, indeed, many, had difficulty deciphering some of the expressions from the green scaly reptilian features of an Argonian face, there was no denying the pleased, almost motherly demeanour of the approaching woman, her long tail hovering over the floor behind her, that instantly commanded respect from any whose gaze befell her. Before she came even closer into view, her shadow nearing them now, Antoinetta glanced beyond her, to the pair of masculine shapes that remained back where they had stood together. One was a Khajiit man in long faded green and brown Mage robes, peering down the hallway back at her, arms crossed over his chest with what looked like constricting displeasure as he took in the details of her messy state, his surprise at the Speaker's arrival being replaced by something far from pleasant. His face, although covered in thick orange fur, was fathomable. It was very unkind and forbidding, those nearly glowing cat's eyes narrowed further then Antoinetta thought eyes could go, the furry tail poking out from beneath his robes was not curled comfortably, but beginning to flick back and forth dangerously. A brown headband kept back his light furry hair and the pointy cat ear's protruding from either side of it, which were beginning to perk forward and raise in spite of the restraint. It was as if he were glaring heated daggers right back into her, and seemed quite incapable of blinking, making her avert her own anxious eyes away from his unfriendly manner, redirecting instead to the other at his side.

At once the sharp contrast was thrown between the bitter faced Khajiit who now leaned against one of the columns, arms still folded, and the armoured Orc who also watched the scene with silent interest. The Orc, almost entirely bald, save the long twin tufts of braided dark hair on the back of his head, was a massive boulder of a man, easily standing six and a half feet tall. Unlike the approaching Argonian in her light armour, or the robed Khajiit at his side, it was only fitting of this warrior to be clad in a full suit of shining steel plated armour, with a matching monstrous Battle Axe holstered onto his great back, the long handle protruding over his unobstructed head. His massive gauntlet covered arms were down by his sides comfortably as he watched the young Breton. His face, the smooth flesh a kind of olive green, although intimidating like the rest of his race with those jettisoning tusk-like teeth protruding from his lower lip, and a large, raised inward nose, held... to Antoinetta's near bewilderment, something quite different in it's depths then the annoyed, angry even, Khajiit. There was an unmistakable dawning of pleased delight dancing as the Orc's eyes flickered back and forth between his hooded Speaker and the new arrival holding his arm, and his tusks, no longer so unpleasant with this sudden radiance in his manner, seemed to be grinning merrily, his thick eyebrows raising, as if he were on the verge of leaping from his plated boots.

"Lucien! We weren't expecting you here this morning!".

The Argonian stopped before them near the small table, her scarlet, slit-like eyes glancing between the Speaker and the one he had brought, and her long row of tiny teeth drew back into an amiable, receptive smile that flashed back at Lucien. Antoinetta watched, feeling herself a tiny figure standing on the sidelines of two great individuals, still clutching to Lucien's arm down by his side like a life preserver, as he extended his other towards the Argonian woman, and, taking her gloved hand into his own, brought it to his lips with a courteous bow. As he did so, the Breton at his side watched with a sudden flush at this gentlemanly display for the other, instinctively holding the Speakers arm even tighter to her, and averting her eyes to the ground anxiously.

"Dearest Mistress, my sincerest apologies for the suddenness of my arrival", His low voice murmured as he drew back, his dark eyes beguiling and kindly. "I assure you, my intent in doing so was a pleasant one".

"Dearest Speaker, there is no apology necessary", Her low voice rasped in a warm greeting, clapping her gloved hands together with delight at Lucien's ever enchanting demeanour, uttering a pleased laugh, her eyes again flickering over to the shy, sickly girl at his side, becoming ever more soothing and motherly. She considered the heavy bruising nearly covering the girl's face, the rough coughing that kept escaping her, her mind already flashing and setting into motion on how best to remedy the situation, the pain the girl had been inflicted. "If we had known you were coming, I assure you, I'd have had the others up and about... I can see that very interesting business has brought you... in regards to your nervous companion... don't be frightened, Child... let me see you... there there".

Antoinetta's eyes flickered back up nervously, glancing from the kindly Argonian and back over to Lucien. She had long been frightened of strangers and had made an extraordinary step in trusting Lucien as she did, deferring to his powerful presence, his authority, and was reluctant to speak without his reassurance, which he understood at once and gave just as quickly.

"This is Ocheeva, dearest child... the Mistress of our Sanctuary and head of the Family. You are as safe in her hand's as you are in mine.", He informed her tranquilly, nodding to the Argonian woman, who had stepped closer to her, and was beginning to examine Antoinetta's bruises carefully. Antoinetta breathed silently, slowly returning Ocheeva's friendly, unintimidating smile with relief, yet still feeling more nervous then she ever had, clinging to her Speaker to ward off the onset of fear.

"Hello Ma'am", Antoinetta spoke quietly, uncertainly, maintaining her own smile as the Argonian examined a long, deep cut on her shoulder.

"Please dear girl, call me Ocheeva... if you're going to get to know me, you should start with using my name".

"Hello Ocheeva", the young woman corrected herself automatically, finding her thin lipped smile beginning to widen and strengthen at the Argonian's evident concern for her cuts.

"This lovely young woman standing before you is Antoinetta Marie", The Speaker of the Black Hand spoke up again as he maintained an eye on the girl with warm, genial approval. "She will be joining us in our little family. She has suffered very greatly, as you can see... and as such, requires immediate attention."

"Oh dear me _yes_", Ocheeva murmured soothingly, her cool gloved hand running through a layer Antoinetta's dishevelled, freely hanging hair reassuringly. It fell down upon her hollow cheeks, gently caressing the ghostly pale flesh not overtaken by the bruises, or the sudden flush at Lucien's compliment, which she noted with quiet delight, her smile widening. "Welcome to the Sanctuary, Antoinetta... we will have you feeling well again in no time, I assure you. We can speak further once you have been properly attended to... this is more important by far".

Drawing back from the sick girl slightly, Ocheeva peered back over her armoured shoulder to the distant pair who watched the scene from the shadows, motioning for them to come forward with a slight wave of her glove. Antoinetta watched as the Orc responded at once eagerly, moving quickly down the hall after them quickly, his big grin growing wider and more hopeful. The robed Khajiit, on the other hand, did so with slow, sour reluctance, uncrossing his arms, standing upright from the pillar and following gradually in the delighted Orc's hurried wake. When the Orc had drawn closer to Ocheeva, armour rustling and clanking about noisily as he moved, he grinned even wider still, his attention focused solely upon the petite Breton shyly peering up at his great form as she clung to his Speaker.

"Well hey there Little Sister!", His deep, booming voice carried all the way around the Sanctuary, causing Antoinetta to flinch suddenly, instinctively, in spite of his surprisingly jolly and pleasant demeanour "I take it from your standing here that you're here for keeps eh? Welcome to the family! Come here you! And you too Speaker!"

The towering Orc, clad in his fully body armour no less, started towards Antoinetta, his massive arms widening to eagerly crush the young woman and robed man together against himself in a bear-like hug. Before Antoinetta could draw backwards in surprise, Ocheeva had stepped between the trio, holding her hands up to the front of the Orc's chest plate, shaking her head and stopping him in his tracks mid hug, his arms freezing just before accidentally enveloping the Mistress instead.

"_No hugs _Gogron", Ocheeva's raspy voice informed the tall Orc warningly, her scarlet eyes narrowed intently on his now very much embarrassed features. A sort of crimson flushed to the Orc's green cheeks, rendering an almost purple touch to them, as he succumb to the far smaller being's authority at once. Gogron rubbed the surface of his smooth head as if in an attempt to move attention away from himself, grinning over at Lachance nervously, who scarcely repressed a small smirk. "Antoinetta here has probably come a long way, and she needs to be made well again... one of your hugs isn't liable to help the situation very much".

"Oh... uh _right_! Sorry 'bout that Mistress, uh, Antoinetta", Gogron apologized loudly, clearing his throat with innocent nonchalance, attempting to smile just as innocently at the young woman, whose frightened eyes shifted into an amusement that surprised her. "Sometimes I just get a little too excited you see... and... well...".

"Yes, we know", Ocheeva cut him off swiftly, holding up a gloved hand again commandingly, as though reprimanding a child for his disobedience. By now, the Khajiit man had finally drawn close, eyes doing nothing to hide their displeasure as he folded his arms again as he stopped behind Gogron as if becoming his smaller shadow, quite comfortable with not entering the midst of the conversation, and continuing to watch the nervous Antoinetta unwelcomingly, an action Lucien noted from the corner of his perceptions with familiarity. "Crushing Family members is not the reason I called you over. Would you kindly escort Antoinetta down to my private quarters... there is no sense in having her settle down into the Living Quarters with the others until she has been properly taken care of... that and the fact she should not be forced into listening to Teinaava's incessant snoring on her very first night with us..."

Gogron uttered another booming, delighted laugh at this, and Ocheeva betrayed another razor sharp smile in spite of her apparent severity with the Orc.

"Not a problem with me Mistress", he informed her at once when his laughing fit had abated, shrugging his armoured shoulders. "I'd say she deserves a good nights sleep".

Before Gogron could start forward again to Antoinetta's side and carry out his requested service, Ocheeva stopped him one more time in his tracks with ease.

"Be _careful_ with her Gogron... remember, _no _hugging", The Sanctuary's Mistress warned a final time, peering very seriously up into his eyes unblinkingly. "She is in a very fragile state... do you understand?"

"Yeah yeah mom, I promise", Gogron chuckled with a shake of his head, the innocent grin and child-like glow in his warm eyes not fading in the slightest. Satisfied at last with his understanding, Ocheeva stepped out of his way as he started forward again. 'By Sithis, you do it a few times and it follows you wherever you go..."

Gogron moved over to Antoinetta's other side, towering over her, and in that instant, Antoinetta had never felt so tiny before. His bulky steel encrusted arm, to say nothing of the muscle beneath, with all the gentleness that was possible, made it's way around her slender shoulders to help guide her down the hallway. Antoinetta's wide eyes became even more anxious at his cold, rough gauntlet, so very different from Lucien's warm, smooth hold.

"It's just right this way, Little Sister", Gogron informed the young woman gently, his voice lowering slightly as his surprisingly warm brown eyes blinked patiently, and he inclined his head to the corridor beyond. "We'll get ya patched up and out there killin' some poor bastards again in no time!".

Antoinetta hesitated at his friendly mannered touch, not out of any misgiving of the Orc... but because she was more reluctant then ever to withdraw from Lucien's powerful yet tender presence. It had been he who saved her... took her away from her misery... her cruel surroundings, and brought her to all this, a family that would take care of her. She glanced up to him, and Lucien's hooded head bowed closer down to her, where he smiled encouragingly, the thumb of his gloved hand beginning to affectionately stroke the back of her tiny exposed one. He shook his head slowly.

"It's alright now dear child", His low voice murmured into her ear comfortably, causing her heart to nearly skip a beat. There was something so undeniably reassuring to him that a part of her, a part growing ever stronger, wanted he alone to tend to her wounds and her sickness more then any of the other kind yet unfamiliar faces. This thought threatened to bring forth another blush, which she struggled against with all of her will. "They will take care of you, as I have promised. Trust in me, Antoinetta, and you will trust them in little to no time at all".

Antoinetta did trust him... there was no way around that plain as day fact... she had the moment he'd made his intention clear back in that alleyway. She had come this far... and she would continue further, knowing the Speaker spoke only the truth, truth as she had never known it. Nevertheless, she regretted at once having to leave his side... and wished for an opportunity for the others to vanish, if only for a moment, so she could thank him for the enormity of his deed... the kindest and most loving one that had ever been bestowed upon her so freely. Her sore lungs drew in air, but no words could form from them. She couldn't thank him properly in the state she was in... and she knew it. Antoinetta forced herself to be contented, if only for a moment, with giving him a tiny nod, and smiling up at him with a kind of radiance that, he noticed at once, overpowered the great many cuts and bruises, offering a glimpse at the true beauty she held.

Very slowly, she gave up her hold on the Speakers forearm, her hands lowering down to her stained front and clutching one another nervously, turning her attention to the Orc stooping over to hold her around the shoulders.

"There you go!", Gogron spoke encouragingly, beaming down at her. With that, he guided her gradually away from the Speaker and Mistress, each of whom watched them depart, now standing side by side. They passed down the hall and by the bitter faced Khajiit, whom stared through Antoinetta the moment she raised her head in his direction, and he grimaced, shaking his head and looking away as if she did a disservice to his eyes, illiciting fresh uncertainty within Antoinetta, who averted her attention from him.

"You're gonna like it here Little Sister! Name's Gogron Gro Bolmog by the way, in case ya forgot... pretty damn long, so just call me Gogron, everyone else does... well... aside from 'Green Ape' or whatever other clever nickname that cat invents... I can tell you're nervous...-

As the armoured Orc led the young woman away, his booming voice gradually began to grow nearly as quiet as the Breton the further they went, only it's kindly tone audible to Lachance's ears. The Speaker watched as, just as Antoinetta was to round the bend that led to Ocheeva's quarters and vanish from sight, they stopped, Antoinetta drawing back fearfully and whispering something, her eyes bulging upon something he could not yet see. Gogron glanced between whatever it was, and the new family member at his side, and he began to laugh and talk again. It slowly lurched unsteadily around the corner, passing them as if they weren't there. A living skeleton, a familiar sight only to the older family members, shrouded in fading black light body armour and hefting a steel battleaxe like Gogron's own with a matching shield, rounding the corner amidst the creaking of it's yellowing bones, and moving in the same direction the now motionless pair had just departed from. As Gogron continued to speak to Antoinetta, whose eyes followed the Skeleton's rigid movements, she suddenly gazed back in Lucien's direction. Hoping to help recover her from her surprise, he inclined his head respectfully, and Gogron suddenly burst into riotous laughter as he drew her back into motion. She glanced back up at the Orc again, but before rounding the corner, her large eyes were the last thing Lucien saw of her that day.

Once they were gone, Ocheeva's attention returned to the robed Khajiit, who was, even now, mumbling under his breath bitterly, still shaking his head tiredly.

"M'raaj- Dar".

His Mistress's raspy, sharp voice drew his bitter focus away at once, at least for the moment, and he looked back to her as well as his silent Speaker, forcing away his mumblings. He moved away from his spot in the corridor and joined the pair more quickly then it had taken him to follow after Gogron, arms still folded over his chest, while near one of the pillars just behind him, the Skeleton stopped, it's jaw opening and closing, teeth clicking together as if there were still life within it, as opposed to the twisted marionette it actually was.

"Yes Mistress?", His throaty growl enquired of her at once, his eyes flickering, for the first time since Antoinetta's arrival, with unmistakable respect in the Speaker's presence, who he nodded his furry head to. "Dear Speaker, it is good to see you again".

"The sentiment is shared as ever, M'raaj- Dar", Lucien's low voice replied simply, withdrawing smoothly from the acknowledgement to allow Ocheeva at his side to continue speaking, so as not to usurp her own authority... though to be sure, such a thing would be impossible.

"I need you to go down and wake Vicente, dear brother", She informed the Khajiit Mage at once, the request easily drawing another bitter look from him that nearly matched his prior annoyance with the girl. "Tell him what has just transpired, and that his patient is waiting in my quarters."

M'raaj- Dar looked as though he would rather swallow a bottle of his own specially brewed deadliest poisons then do so, and his words reflected this visible sentiment.

"You want me to _wake_ the _leech_ from his desperately needed beauty sleep?", He asked irritably, obviously less then pleased with the prospect of the idea, eyes narrowing. "As kind as he is at night, it does not particularly appeal to my health to go waking him in the early hours of the morning... nor is it any more appetizing to be helping that... '_girl_', by telling him of her."

"Would _you_ rather be the one to fix her up, dear brother?", Ocheeva enquired quite seriously, crossing her own arms, her own scarlet eyes narrowing upon him fixedly. "Vicente is not about to _eat_you... you already know that as well as I. He will be quite pleased to receive the wonderful news, I am more then sure".

M'raaj- Dar did not look particularly convinced by this, but certainly did not want to be the one playing healer to the new arrival He resolved to follow his lady's wishes, but, before departing, left behind a few of his choice thoughts on the matter, unable to entirely stem the tide of rising discontent and anger.

"_Wonderful_ is not quite the appropriate word for this _I_ say. We do not need that little _insect _within our family, Mistress.", The Khajiit informed Ocheeva resentfully, his thick brows furrowing ever deeper. "She looks no more capable of handling a blade, a bow or magic then she does surviving the night. She is thinner and more ragged then our own Skeleton... and will prove to us about as useful. She will weaken us, demean the value of our Family with her presence alone... she will become no more then a liability".

"I seem to recall the day our dear Speaker here brought _you_ to the Sanctuary as well, M'raaj- Dar", Ocheeva replied quite calmly, her slit eyes narrowing upon him with scrutiny, drawing for the first time discomfort from the Khajiit. "We _all_have started somewhere... and so is she. There is no difference between her and us... and if there is, it is merely experience, experience that we shall provide to her."

M'raaj- Dar did not back down, in spite of knowing full well he should do so for the moment... particularly in the Speaker's shadowy presence.

"That was entirely different from this, Ocheeva... even in my beginning I was never like... _that_... an insignificant puny little-

Lucien's low, forbidding voice at last filtered again from the confines of his hood, his tone calm yet incomparably dangerous... a tone the Khajiit was familiar with hearing, and did not want to argue his point against, his jaw snapping shut at once.

"Are you questioning the _Night Mother's_ judgement.. dear Brother?", The Speaker asked quietly, his cool, muddy eyes resting upon M'raaj- Dar, causing him to glance away at once as if struck by his very hand. "Or _my_ actions in bringing the dear child here to our Family? Ocheeva has given you a task. Are you, by chance, _refusing to carry out the orders of a Dark Brotherhood superior_?"

A split second of frigid silence descended over the Sanctuary at that final suggestive sentence, punctuated rather poignantly only by the echoing creaks of the Skeleton beyond.

"_No_, dearest Speaker", The Khajiit answered without hesitation after recovering himself, shaking his head at the all too familiar line, his arms uncrossing at once in the hopes of conveying his honesty more clearly. "I am not... nor would I ever think or entertain the idea of doing so. I spoke entirely out of turn".

The Speaker studied the Assassin with dispassion, scrutinizing him without even blinking, as though the Imperial had become a statue chiseled of marble. It was a look that one, no matter how strong or powerful they could claim to be, no matter their individual accomplishments, would fold beneath, and M'raaj Dar, having glimpsed the cold immovability and power of it before, was no exception. No further complaints were to be made in the Speaker's presence. Lucien gave him a barely perceptible nod of satisfaction as the Khajiit grasped this.

"_Excellent_. Then there will be no problem in performing the Mistress's task, now, and doing so with all due haste", Lachance suggested to him quietly, his thin lips tightening. "I should think. Antoinetta's health is a most pressing matter, and must be seen to immediately".

"Yes Speaker, Mistress... it shall be done at once... my sincerest apologies to you both", M'raaj- Dar amended quickly, glancing between the Speaker and Mistress before bowing respectfully to each, what looked to be a painful smile rising, forcing himself to look pleasant and agreeable with the pair.

It didn't work. Nor did his smile match up to his eyes. Nevertheless, Lucien did not press it further, knowing his point had been made clearly enough.

Departing the scene, still maintaining that forced smile, at least until he turned, Mraaj Dar followed the same route after the pair that had preceded him. Nevertheless, once he believed he was out of earshot, Lucien could hear the unmistakable dark mutterings and curses beginning to occur under his breath... aimed not at the Speaker or Mistress, of course, but Antoinetta, and watched as the Khajiit Mage roughly pushed aside the Dark Guardian who had inadvertently blocked his pathway by pausing behind him as they had all conversed. The tall skeleton's bones creaked unpleasantly as it nearly stumbled to the floor, but caught it's self before doing so, it's yellowing skull watching the Khajiit's long furry tail round the bend at the far end of the hall and disappear amidst his silent tirade. The Guardian released a rasping hiss not unlike that of a serpent's at the sudden physical altercation it had received, but nevertheless, continued back on it's route around the Sanctuary mindlessly, leaving the lone pair remaining by their selves in the warm, dimly lit atmosphere of the Sanctuary's main interior.

Ocheeva shook her scaly, roughened head, uttering a slight rasping laugh of exasperation, and glanced sideways to her Speaker, waving a hand dismissively after the vanished Khajiit. He peered back at her at once, an unmistakable hint of a smile replacing the ice his face had held but moments prior at he Khajiit's display.

"You know what he's like about newcomers as well as any of us, Lucien... it takes him quite awhile to accept them. She'll grow on him quickly enough though I'm sure."

"I don't doubt it... she's a lovely girl with a heart of darkness and a matching will to survive. It's just a matter of her processing the change of her surroundings. She'll open up to the others before long, and bring the personality she possesses hiding beneath the bruises and uncertainty".

"We didn't receive any warning from you, dear Speaker", Ocheeva's row of tiny teeth smiled in turn. "I suppose it was your intention to surprise us with this?"

"My dear Ocheeva... the depth of which you know me is astounding at times. I had hoped to leave a bigger impression upon each of you if I were to bring her forthright without advance notice... was I correct in this belief?"

"Your objective was most certainly accomplished", Ocheeva assured him, uncrossing her arms and turning back to him. "I can hardly say I was expecting another family member for some time. Where, may I ask, did she come from? What has happened to her to bring her to that... state?"

Lucien's voice became quieter, almost distant as he provided the answer, folding his hands behind his back.

"She was... 'living', if one could call it that, very nearly alone on the streets of the Imperial City for some time now, when not suffering in it's prison, at the hand's of it's cruel guards. I am... impressed, that she has survived as long as she has in the face of tormentors, degenerates and filth. By the time I reached her, she was very nearly dead in the grime, dead in the snow. For a moment or two there I truly believed she was, that I was too late. A week ago, she murdered an extraordinarily foolish aunt of hers, and caught the Night Mother's eye in doing so where no other murder she committed prior had. I cannot claim I was expecting her to trust me as quickly as she did... for trust cannot be very easy for her to come by, in light of how many times others have abused it with her. Yet, she did anyways... and she took the opportunity presented to her".

"Of course she trusts you, Speaker", Ocheeva replied after a moments consideration, another slow smile forming. "I saw nothing less then a glowing in her eyes as she looked at you. You have always had a way with words... particularly those placed upon the opposite gender, of course... in any event, I am glad that she has accepted a place with us... the atmosphere around here has been quite... dispassionate, this past while, as you know".

Her smile faded alongside Lucien's stony features, and they stood silent for a moment in shared contemplation on the matter that plagued them each.

"It was not my intention... nor do I believe it was the Night Mother's, to replace any departed family members", Lucien's low voice spoke up again, considering his words carefully. "I believe instead that it was done to placate the misery that has enveloped this Sanctuary since it occurred. I understand M'raaj -Dar's attitude towards thinking this, however, and it crossed my mind some time ago. However, there is no doubt in my thinking that this development will prove welcome for all".

"He will never admit it... not to his dying breath, but he cared for our fallen sister as much as we all do.", Ocheeva agreed quietly, a shadow of sadness passing over her scaly features. "It's simply not in his character to speak of it, as the others have... he is allowing it to fester, and to worsen".

"No matter", the Mistress finally resolved as if arising from a deep sleep, shaking her head. She placed a gloved hand to her mouth as she began to consider the new arrival again, focusing on the details to forgo her own sorrow on the arisen issue. Her voice, Lucien noted, became increasingly distant. She was focusing all her effort on doing what was right for the new family member as he had, and doing so in the hopes of alleviation for them both. "Regardless of her past, regardless of anything that has occurred both to her and this Sanctuary, Antoinetta will get the unwavering love she deserves from us. Once she is cured of her ailments, well nourished... she can move to the Living Quarters, and take either Mathieu or Maria's old beds... whichever she deems to be more comfortable of course. As for her uniform... it should not be an issue, I think. And when the proper time come's, I can have Vicente set her up with a simple contract first, so we might gauge her capability's... no sense in giving her any overwhelming tasks at such an early stage in her life here".

"She will perform admirably when it occurs, of this I have no cause to doubt", Lucien replied swiftly, nodding his hooded head in agreement with the suggestion. "She has the strength to perform Sithis's own will... to savour the kill, and to succeed. Of that I can promise."

"I've never doubted you voice or your word, dearest Speaker. None of us ever have or will", Ocheeva answered resolutely, and another hushed silence fell over the Sanctuary as they each considered the matter for some time.

In that comfortable pause, Lucien was reminded of his other duties, and resolved to attend to them at once. His gaze flickered back over his shoulder and towards the Ancient Door that had admitted each member of the Cheydinhal family.

"If there is nothing else required of me here, I must be returning to my work now, Mistress... ", The Speaker informed her apologetically, motioning back to the doorway up the tunnel. "Now that this situation has been properly attended to... there are other important developments occurring within the Black Hand to see through just as carefully".

"I understand, Lucien", The Mistress agreed, resolving not to ask any questions as to the nature of these matters. The Black Hand's business was it's own, in spite of her increasing curiosity, in spite of her grave concerns over the many circulating stories. "I'll see you to the Door... unless you care to take the well entrance instead?".

"That shouldn't be necessary", Lucien replied, turning away from the main floor of the Sanctuary, it's numerous pillars and banners, and making for the tunnel again at a gradual pace for Ocheeva to remain at his side. They passed the remaining pillars as they made their way closer. "This way I can lock the door of the 'Abandoned Building', behind me again... an extra little deterrent against curiosity and busybody's... and one the citizens of Cheydinhal should continue to take as easily as they have swallowed our illusion... for their own sakes".

Ocheeva laughed delightfully as they passed through the tunnel, her sound echoing within the confined space, and before long, they had reached the Door. Before Lucien could press his gloved fingertips to the Door, causing it in turn to recognize his touch and spring open, Ocheeva stopped him for a moment as a particular thought returned to her. It had occurred some time before this morning... the brothers and sisters of the family not having seen him for some time... but perhaps it had been not only his arrival, but that look in Antoinetta's eyes that brought it back.

"Another minute, if you will dear Speaker", She requested the Imperial warmly, to which he smiled kindly as he turned back. Beyond her, back at the far end of the Sanctuary's main floor... he spotted the familiar green and brown robes of the Sanctuary's resident pessimist leaving the corridor that led to Ocheeva's quarters, his task, it would seem completed, and he was no doubt muttering again as he passed a pair of the stone pillars, making his way to the Sanctuary's Living Quarters and vanishing from Lucien's line of sight.

"You may have as many of them as you wish, Mistress", The Speaker informed her quite courteously at once, returning his eyes to her. "As you doubtlessly know".

"I'll only take another one from you _this _morning then, Lucien", Ocheeva replied warmly, releasing a chuckle. "I wanted to extend a hopeful request that you drop by the Sanctuary next Loredas evening for dinner. Telaendril will be returning from her travels that morning, and we thought the Sanctuary should make the effort to celebrate the Evening Star together. With Antoinetta's arrival now, the celebrations will only be complete with the head of the family here as well... the man whose love and devotion brought us all together."

Lucien considered the enticing offer, smiling lightly at her sentiment. His duties with the Black Hand, at least for the moment, did not require him to travel this season. He was keeping in constant contact with Blanchard and Shaleez's progresses in the form of letters, allowing himself to remain on stand by for any further orders delivered from Ungolim's messengers. That said, it would be over two weeks before Arquen completed her journey and paid visit to him. Should he not do the same to his children of the Sanctuary? It had been far too long since last he was with them all gathered together... and the season, coupled with the new addition, made it the perfect time to do so. There was no hesitation in the answer he gave, inclining his head respectfully.

"It would be an honour to do so", Lucien answered kindly, and his tone turned quietly humorous. "So long as Gogron and Vicente manage to put aside their cooking arguments for awhile and work together to produce a somewhat edible feast".

Ocheeva laughed again, the rasp filling the corridor, pleased at his immediate acceptance, and nodded fervently in agreement with this.

"I shall pass along the request as soon as possible, dearest Speaker... I am sure the rest of the family would quite agree with you on that".

"And, before I part...", Lucien continued on after she had recovered herself, ever more gently. "Would you kindly pass on another message? Give my best wishes to Antoinetta and for her to have a quick recovery."

"It will be my pleasure to give that message", Ocheeva affirmed with an iridescent, knowing smile. "And hers to receive it I'm sure. Have a pleasant day, dear Lucien, walk always in the shadow of Sithis, great Speaker".

Lucien bowed low to her again in response.

"And may the Night Mother always watch over you, dear Mistress", He answered in kind, tightening himself back upright and placing a gloved hand to the door at once. "Good day to you".

The Ancient Black Door responded to his touch, unsealing it's self from the rock and pushing it's self forward, revealing the littered exterior beyond it and the remainder of the tunnel. With a final nod to Ocheeva, The Speaker of the Black Hand departed the Sanctuary, the door resealing it's self in his wake. Lucien left the abandoned house, and upon reaching the surface, locking it behind himself amidst the familiar shroud of invisibility he cast with ease. By then, the citizens of Cheydinhal, alongside the guards had begun to congregate towards the grand church, filing in for that morning's service to celebrate their amusing worshipful, pious ways as the church bells rang freely, proudly... almost gleefully. To celebrate the... accomplishments, if they could be called those, of so called 'Divines' who did not even take the time to answer their followers prayers, much less cared about the going ons of the Nirn. From a distance, the invisible Lachance watched the devout religious piling up to the church... men, women, children, elves and seemingly every other such race, and a smile as cold as the snow surrounding them etched it's self into his blanketed features. Perhaps if someone had been looking very carefully in his direction, they would have seen the snowflakes disappearing mid air in the vicinity he stood as they fell against his robes... but in their great excited rabble of energy, even in the early morning, none did as much, nor any of the guards on their way to their posts. How marvellously poetic a choice it had been for the Sanctuary to have been constructed directly across from holy ground... good and evil presiding together in the same city as literal neighbours.. yet only evil knowing the other existed. They were so very much resembling of sheep the way they entered the church like an abattoir... wandering through their days without a care or understanding in the world for the malevolent, malignant shadows that lurked freely around them... until at the last moment, when the day would come these shadows would invariably rise up and envelope each of them one by one through sin and other Dark pleasures. When sins would come to some of them... in turn spreading this tide of chaos and despair across the yet afflicted through prayer to a Mother who listened, a Mother who actually cared for her children. The unworthy and the good were a breeding stock from which Sithis chose so very carefully, whispering to each, and maintaining the continuous unbreakable cycle the Dark Brotherhood thrived upon. Had risen from. At last, thoroughly amused by the almost mind numbing ignorance of the populace, he left, slipping from the city with ease, retracing footsteps long known, and leaving behind the many buildings and sights on the path and making his way up through the woods to the ruins of Fort Farragut, the church bells in the valley below still faintly audible as they chimed.

Before reaching the trap door he had carefully hidden in the hollowed old tree just off the path of the main entrance, another useful illusion... though to be sure, about as many travelled to Fort Farragut after hearing the rumours surrounding it as they did to the Abandoned House at the edge of town, Lucien stopped immediately to pet Shadowmere affectionately, thanking her for her assistance that evening. Her playful snorts came in response at once, and she continued to paw at the ground as she nuzzled him in turn. She had long served him well in his travels... and he had never, nor would ever, take her existence for granted... truly being a direct, physical link to the Dread Father. He returned her to the Void she had sprung from once more before himself returning to his Chamber within the depths of Fort Farragut, climbing down the rungs of the ladder after locking up the trap door behind himself.

He was home again... or rather in one of his homes. He would need to check his dead-drop location to see if any more news had been delivered on behalf of the two Silencers... yet the night had been eventful, and his energy was noticeably depleting. He would do so the looming night instead. Instead, Lucien changed out of his mud stained robes and back into his proper clothing before preparing his own meal. He ate and drank in the crypt-like silence of the cold Chamber... with only the creaking of bones that echoed from the hall beyond his chambers to keep him company. The emptiness of the place ate at him sometimes... followed him... but was necessary. His true home lay only down the hill within the city, and would always be there for him as he was to them... which was, in it's self, more then many across Tamriel could say. He had a home, and love... two of the many things he had been bestowed... but possibly the most important of them.

After finishing up his meal, Lucien leaned back in his seat, released a quiet, relaxed breath, and contemplated the matters at hand, and the next duty that awaited him, apart from the ongoing investigation... an investigation, he was loath to admit, headed by only two Speakers.

If the entire Black Hand were searching into the disappearances, the Traitor could be uncovered and liquidated quickly, cleansing the veins of the Brotherhood of poison, and pleasing Sithis and the Mother with their diligence in the process. As it were, Arquen alone shared his vision... and he appreciated her for it as he always had. There was the chance her visits across Cyrodiil would be able to convince the others... but there was the matter of Ungolim... who, for all his importance to the Brotherhood... lacked much in the way of foresight. Still... still... J'Ghasta might be convinced to take the matter seriously. As the Listener's successor, it would only be proper for him to wish to further prove himself to the Night Mother by actively joining the hunt for the traitor. There was the possibility he did not, of course... but it was not one Lucien cared to entertain. J'Ghasta knew his duties as well as anyone of them. If there were anyone to have an excuse for not joining the hunt right away, is was Uvani alone. Ungolim was running him, and by extension, his Silencer... dear Mathieu, ragged with duties that carried them across Cyrodiil. Uvani was an irritable man with little patience for the matter... which, though regrettable, was understandable... nevertheless, he was as faithful as the rest of the Hand.

In Sithis's name, Lucien prayed his Altmer companion, his most beloved sister, would be able to succeed in convincing them... yet, even failing that, she would at least be able to put the other Sanctuary's on alert.

Above all, he prayed Ungolim would take the matter seriously enough to ask The Mother questions regarding the Traitor's identity. And yet, even as he wished this... he wished it as a last resort only. It was the Speaker's and Listener's responsibility's to root out traitors and preserve the Brotherhood, not the Night Mother. They were her unholy children, and much was expected of them... for just as much had been given to them. Being elevated to the status's they were in, ranks held by many great men and women before them, should be treated with constant respect. Pride and ignorance, like that of the people below in the valley, had no place in the Brotherhood... he only hoped Ungolim would remember that. In the meantime, he would continue to hunt the traitor with every bit of skill and resolve he had gained over the years... and with Arquen, it seemed all the more likely they would succeed.

But it was not definite. That would have to change... and soon.

Lucien withdrew from his contemplation, shaking his head slightly. Cleaning up the table, he turned in for the morning to bed, yet lay fast awake for a time, peering up at the chamber ceiling, his shadow washing over the wall beside him in the candlelight.

Before the beauty that was darkness overtook him, he wondered again how Arquen was doing... as simultaneously, he hoped for the best of the formerly neglected child he had brought into the fold.

* * *

><p><strong><em><span>Complications<span>  
><em>**

He had known it was coming... but hadn't expected it to happen so soon... and it was this lack of foresight that had caught him by surprise even worse then the girl had herself.

"By Sithis... get out of my way at once you damned useless creaking bag of bones..."

M'raaj Dar roughly pushed aside the motionless Guardian that had gotten it's self in his way, and it stumbled aside as he pushed forward, undaunted by it's presence. He scarcely heard it hiss angrily as he rounded the corner, continuing towards his unpleasant task without stopping to glance back at his Speaker and Mistress, lest the Speaker's deathly calm eyes, a calm suspending a cruelty greater by far even then his, meet his own pair again. He did this, amidst the swirling of thoughts and cold, bitter feelings coursing through his veins and the mutterings escaping his mouth. He knew Sithis would not approve of them, nor his Speaker of course... but it was not something he could simply detach from himself. It was a part of him... an indispensable part. It nearly consumed him, bringing back with it the... feelings, that had been present since the day his Dark Sister had vanished. Feelings that had only, if anything, worsened steadily with the passing of time, and now multiplied with this bit of news... news of an outsider.

He kept the nature of these thoughts from the others... but there were times when he could see it reflecting back at him in mirrors... he maintained his anger, fuelled it... for it was the thing that he sometimes felt he was most composed of. The others had grieved, at least a few of the others had wept over the disappearance, helpless to change what had occurred. As they all slept in the Sanctuary's Living Quarters, when she was around at least, there were times Telaendril had woken him from his own nightmares... her weeping somehow leaving him very much awake... even long after her tears had eventually subsided from Gogron's going over to console her. He could not do as they did... grieving... and he never would he supposed, at least until the vermin who did it lay dead at his feet... and even then he would not do so before the others He was never one for tears. There was a prematurity to it all, a resignation by the others that disgusted him. How could they begin to think of introducing an outsider like this, when only their Speaker had formed any kind of search, while they had not, had been forced to merely continue in their contracts?

What was the point of this new girl's presence, if _not _to replace the fallen Maria? Something she, a stupid little thing was most definitely incapable of. In spite of the sheer insanity of the idea, however... she had come, holding frantically to their own Speaker, mere months after Maria... Maria, who he had never expected to leave such an impression upon himself as she had. She had been very annoying in her own little way... like many of the others... and yet...

M'raaj Dar grimaced.

The Cheydinhal Sanctuary was a close family, and had always been, like every other Dark Brotherhood family in Tamriel... their bonds unshakable to one another... then along came the weaklings, the newcomers, the _unworthy_ expecting to be greeted with a luxurious red carpet rolled beneath their feet, simply because they managed to kill someone who was somehow even weaker then they were. What was Lucien playing at in bringing them another before Maria had even been avenged? What actions were being taken to resolve _that_ little situation? Did Lucien even care? Was the Black Hand even paying attention to the loss of a sister? The rumours? They had known him for so long, but truly, M'raaj Dar did not _know _him, what dark thoughts stirred within the scope of that indecipherable mind. What evil lurked in the man's heart. The stories of his doings.

He did not doubt in his Speaker, that wasn't it at all... but he simply did not understand him... nevertheless, he knew Lucien only carried out the Night Mother's wishes, and would never fail to do so. It was not solely the Tenets that bound M'raaj Dar... but also his respect and loyalty to the Speaker, for whom he would die in a heartbeat. Though, this did nothing to wane or distill his anger in the slightest, nor the sour taste creeping gradually into his mouth. The Breton Girl was a tiny little creature whose very bones were probably displayed through her deathly white skin beneath that shredded paper bag pretending to be a dress... to say nothing of her sickening greasy hair, and pallid thin face caked with the mud she slept in. There was nothing she could offer to them... and the idea of her using their resources was an insult in it's self. She should have been left on whichever street she had been found, not walking amongst them, breathing their air. Had she even killed the second required individual to gain her admittance into the Sanctuary as each of them had? The idea of someone in her state being capable of doing so was absurd, and the thought that she had been given an exception due to her health was even more anger inducing. Making special accommodations for the weak. To make matters more irritating then they already were, the rest of the family, he knew, was going to accept this new pest in their midst without a second thought... he had known this the moment she had entered, before he had even taken in her foul scent.

Even the Rat belonged in the Sanctuary more then she... at least it smelled better.

As he passed through the corridor, and the open door to Ocheeva's quarters to match, which he did not even flicker his eyes towards, he could hear Gogron's foolishly excited and booming voice speaking to the insignificant little waspish whelp who had somehow caught the Night Mother's attention, but he did not listen to particulars. The Orc was making an idiot of himself... which was scarcely a surprise, actually... all things considered. The half breed girl's little voice was no more then an irritating murmur, her words to Gogron growing welcomely ever fainter as M'raaj Dar reached the stone steps, lowering deeper into the Sanctuary, and finally nearing Vicente's room at the end of the corridors. He stopped, just outside the closed quarters, and paused, considering the matter a little longer.

He hoped Vicente would share the same view as he... at least while he was deprived of rest, rest taken away to tend to the insolent girl's ravaged, unsightly and puny body. However, he knew Vicente's manner all too well... and even this hope seemed a long shot at best. Vicente's years of service to the brotherhood, to the Night Mother and Dread Father, had been longer then the rest of the Cheydinhal family, Lucien himself included. He would think it an honour to receive another Sister and help her, no matter how terribly the previous loss of their own had effected him. M'raaj Dar could not fathom the kindliness being bestowed on the girl... but he would not argue with the Night Mother. Her will would be done... but there was nothing saying that he had to do the same as the others. He would obey this dictation of the Night Mother's will, but that would be the extent of his actions in regard to the girl.

No Tenet existed that could make him care for her insignificant life... and besides, there was the likelihood that even if she survived the night, she would meet her fate during a subsequent contract. It was by dwelling on this hope that he was allowed to put the matter aside... at least for the moment, and focus on waking Vicente from his soundless slumber.

Gripping each of the metal rung handles, M'raaj Dar gave them a light pull, testing the large double-door, and determining that it had not been locked. Carefully, he pulled it forward with mote strength, and the doors creaked loudly as they parted before him, revealing the dank, cold room and it's unpleasant atmosphere one could find in a graveyard or crypt. Only a single alit white candle rested on the wooden table at the centre of the room, well on the way towards going out, the lanterns and torches on the walls already having been extinguished. The weakly flickering light nevertheless poured out into the corridor, washing over M'raaj Dar, causing him to blink, his powerful night accustomed eyes narrowing further. He moved away from the doorway and entered the dusty interior of the quarters, stopping on the rug surrounding the cracked floor beneath the table, and casting his attention across the room, past the desk against the closest wall and towards the living, or otherwise, shadow that lay peacefully asleep atop a stone slab. The Khajiit started towards the slab, but paused within a moment as his arm extended in mid air to shake the room's sole other occupant by his shoulders. He pulled his arm back before it could make contact, and searched the room for something, anything, he could utilize instead to perform the deed. Having two functioning arms was, after all, essential for a magic using Assassin like himself. He found a neglected broom leaning amongst the cobweb and dust collected barrels in the corner on the opposite side of the room, and made his way back to the sleeping occupant quickly.

Vicente Valtieri's ghostly, powerful hands lay folded over his still chest, his entire fully clothed body quite motionless and lacking the rise and fall induced by breaths of intaken air. His known Breton face, as deathly pale as the girl's had been, was calm and blank, as if in the depths of a comfortable, unshakable trance. This did little to encourage M'raaj Dar in taking the required actions... but it was the image of Lucien's humourless face beneath his seemingly ever present hood that he knew better then to disobey... and it was one he feared more then any blood drinker or the most savage moon stricken shape-shifter

Turning the broom over in his hands, M'raaj Dar gripped it by the base, and, taking a careful breath, jabbed Vicente twice in the side with the blunt stick of wood, then waited for a long moment for his eye lids to open.

"Valtieri, get up", The Khajiit muttered bitterly.

They did not.

Cursing under his breath, lapsing briefly into his native tongue, the Khajiit tried again a little more forcefully, this time jabbing him directly in the stomach three times... surely enough to wake even the soundest of sleepers, and he retracted the broom handle down to his side, assured of his success.

Again, the pale Breton remained motionless as the cadaver he was... and by now, what little patience that remained with the Khajiit had been severed like a single thin thread. He raised the broom handle one final time, and, remembering something he had once read in a book, this time aimed for the Breton's heart, hoping to yield better results.

"Valtieri, get your undead ass up and moving!", M'raaj Dar growled roughly, jabbing the Breton again, this time in his motionless heart. He half expected a clammy hand to shoot up and snap the broom handle in half easily with the preternatural strength it held... but was again surprised when it did not, the broom retracting safely to the floor. "You're needed for something!"

Nevertheless, Valtieri at last was roused from his slumber, lids parting and scarlet eyes meeting the furry annoyed Khajiit standing over his slab, and he glanced between him and the broom in his hand, a faintly amused curl forming on his thin, almost lipless mouth.

The Vampire Vicente smiled quite politely.

"There really is no reason for the broom... dear Brother, it was not as though I was going to devour you for waking me, or anything of such wonton brutality", Vicente Valtieri's ever calm, accented voice informed the bitter faced Khajiit, rising up from his slab and, swinging his legs over the side, rose entirely, possessing not a trace of exhaustion or irritation at his sudden awakening. He stretched his arms and released a slight sigh before brushing off his clothes distantly, though failing to remove most of the collected dust. "I drank rather well already last night... and I daresay you've been reading too much fictional literature as of late... wood against my heart..."

"Whatever you say Blood Sucker", M'raaj Dar muttered indifferently, tossing aside the broom handle as Vicente turned to face him again. He folded his arms back over his chest, thick brow furrowing deeper. "Don't start lecturing me about that boring never ending topic again. True or false, I'd rather not take the risk of being folded in half by an angry Leech... bad enough I had to come deliver this so called _news _in the first place".

"News? Whatever could have brought you at this hour? I've only just gotten to bed... I thought the rest of you would have done the same by now", Vicente enquired gently, stepping away from the slab and moving closer to the Khajiit, his hands intertwining comfortably behind his back as he walked placidly. "Is anything the matter?"

"You could say that", M'raaj Dar answered swiftly with a slight shrug of indifference. "Our dearest Speaker just dropped by the Sanctuary unannounced... and Ocheeva sent me to wake you".

"_Lucien_? Here again?", The Vampire asked, raising a pale eyebrow, stopping mid stride at once. "It's been ages. Whatever reason could have brought him here?"

M'raaj Dar frowned with clear distaste, a distaste Vicente could have detected even without the prevalent bitter expressions he often effected.

"Our Speaker was not alone in his little visit either", The Khajiit continued quite indifferently, his eyes glinting with unmistakable malice. "He brought with him a little emaciated blonde whelp, probably a street walker of sorts ravaged with all kinds of venereal diseases rotting away her woman parts. Apparently this bruised, beaten bit of filth somehow merits the right to...-

M'raaj Dar broke off, clearly put off at speaking the words aloud... bad enough he already had to think about it. Vicente understood at once, and, to the Khajiit's displeasure but expectation, a pleased smile formed, giving him more life then a warm body full of blood and sensuous gratifications could provide.

"- to join our little family", Vicente finished for him, rubbing his hands together at the intriguing prospect. "I see... a new addition to our ranks. That is so very interesting".

"_Hardly_", the Khajiit disagreed coldly with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I doubt she'll last even a day in that condition... that is why Ocheeva sent me to collect you. She wishes for you to examine the whelp and tend to her. Gogron has taken her to the Mistress's quarters... I will say this my friend: better _you_ then _me_".

Vicente focused more of his attention to the floor above, overhearing a pair of voices as clearly as day, seeping through the ground and reaching his senses alone. The known booming drawl of the Orc, and a quiet, uncertain and unfamiliar young woman's voice that held traces of a dialect he, a Breton, knew quite well. His focus returned solely to M'raaj Dar, and their words became no more then a distant buzz in his mind amongst the others his power provided... signals to be picked up whenever he so wished them to be. He nodded a single time, and got started at once, making his way over to his own private chest near his bed, producing a brass key simultaneously Reaching it, he inserted the key with an audible click, and he started to open it. His years of remedial and doctoring knowledge returned whenever he called upon it, considering several of the words the annoyed Khajiit had uttered. Emaciated. Bruised. Beaten. He'd not even met the child yet, and his heart went out to her. He had seen a great deal of suffering... and now it was time to get his hands busy remedying whatever situation awaited him above.

"Come now M'raaj Dar... I fail to see how the poor girl deserves such rudeness and obscenity's uttered against her when you don't even know her.", Vicente replied reapprovingly, popping open the lid and rummaging through. Within a moment, even with only faint candle light that didn't even reach the chest, he easily retrieved a sleek black leather kit bag, laying it down on the floor beside himself and continued his search, producing potion after potion of seemingly a rainbow of colours glowing and not glowing and sticking them inside the bag. "If Lucien found her, then his word is more then enough. He is the voice of the Black Hand... and our dearest friend. Pity I shan't have time to receive him this morning. What is this girl's name?"

"My doubt is in the whelp alone Vicente", M'raaj Dar shot back immediately, less then impressed by the suggestion. "And I wasn't listening... how could I over Gogron's babbling? Not that I could give much of a damn one way or another what name she was given..."

"Of course you didn't Dear Brother", Vicente replied absently, putting the last of his equipment and necessary potions into the Kit Bag before locking it back up and stowing away the key. "Begging your pardon, you have no cause to judge a new Dark Brother or Sister based solely on their appearance and youth, M'raaj Dar. I have forgotten how many time's I have had to tell you this... and I will continue to, alas, in vain i fear, until it sinks in. It really should have by now. The Dread Father has a reason for bringing her to us... and you would do well not to forget it."

The Khajiit formed no reply, instead going silent as Vicente crossed the room, passing him, and stopping at the door before glancing back over his shoulder, eyeing the Khajiit, who was peering up to the ceiling at the trap door above them that led directly to Ocheeva's quarters.

"I see no reason in a Vampire suddenly jumping out of the floor beneath her and frightening the poor thing more then she already must be", Vicente commented quite calmly and knowingly, motioning to the open doorway to the corridor he himself stood in. M'raaj Dar's eyes flickered back in the Vampire's direction, his arms showing no sign of uncrossing. "It's the simplest things that matter M'raaj Dar, that must be taken into consideration. Imagine how she must feel, thrown into such unfamiliar surroundings from wherever she has come, surroundings that will undoubtedly take time to process, to understand, and to become comfortable with. Undoubtedly she has heard of us... of our reputation. It is not every day one stands within the shadowy underworld that is the Brotherhood. It takes time to adjust to unexpected developments... Sithis knows _I _know that all too well. You must put yourself in the shoes of another to truly understand that."

"She isn't even wearing shoes Valtieri", M'raaj Dar's deadpan voice replied without a hesitation. "Or much of anything else for that matter. She looks like an anorexic plague bearer".

"That was not the point I was trying to make", Vicente said with a shake of his head and a tired sigh, a hand rising to his face and rubbing it slowly. At last he beckoned the resentful Khajiit forward with his kit bag. M'raaj Dar obeyed reluctantly, finally uncrossing his arms, stepping away from the candle lit table and joined him in the doorway. Valtieri gathered up his coat from one of the rungs near the double doors, draping it around himself as M'raaj Dar moved closer. "Anyways, come now, we have a patient to attend to... mustn't have her remaining in whatever state she was brought in".

"_We_? You mean _you_ have a patient, Valtieri", The Khajiit corrected coldly, his annoyed growling voice, ever ever, doing nothing to break the bemusement of the Vampire, whose smile widened if anything. "I'll have _nothing_ to do with _her _recovery."

"Oh, we'll see when we get there M'raaj Dar. Indeed we shall", Vicente replied quite silkily, stepping out of the doorway and into the darkened corridor, making for the staircase beyond and saying no more for a time.

M'raaj Dar watched the Vampire leave, the elder positively beaming and probably more alive then he'd been before his affliction. With an annoyed huff, he followed in Vicente's wake, the sounds of Gogron's booming voice and the girls faint titter stinging unpleasantly in his ears again as he reached the staircase and began to ascend it as well, already not looking forward to whatever it was the Vampire had planned for him.

* * *

><p><strong><em><span>Welcome to the Family ii<span>_**

"...no need to be ya know, it's just a matter of getting used to this place! Ya know? Believe it or not but I was the same way my first time here, quiet as you... can you believe that?"

"No", Antoinetta's rather hesitant voice answered quietly as the powerful Orc's purposefully heavy gauntlet covered hand led her away from the others and towards the corridor at the end of the Sanctuary's main floor. "I can't".

"Well it's true!", Gogron boomed with a laugh, his grin never fading. He peered down at the tiny blonde woman approvingly. "Took me forever to work up the nerve to talk around all these fellows... now ya can see that isn't too much of a problem huh? Just takes time!"

"I suppose so, Gogron", Antoinetta echoed nervously, continuing to breath with effort. The pain in her stomach had not subsided in the slightest, and it distracted her for the most part from the jolly Orc's words. One of her hand moved down to her emaciated stomach and clutched it, as if such an action were capable of numbing the agony within. It did nothing... but it allowed to to keep her focus a little better. Her mind was very nearly in a fugue, hazy, sluggish and exhausted... she longed to simply fall over where she stood, but Gogron would have none of it, and he was, thankfully, supporting her, keeping her from going limp and collapsing into a ball. She scarcely glanced up at him, but when she did, she offered a faint, grateful smile, then peered ahead to the corridor they were closer towards.

"Now that's the spirit Little Sister!", Gogron grinned, tightening his grip around her shoulders, but not to a painful degree, and at last they started to pass around the looming bend. The moment they did so, Antoinetta glanced up from the floor caught sight of the open doors of what might have been Ocheeva's quarters on the close left hand side of the hall... but it was another sight that drew her attention away in a heartbeat... a heartbeat that now seemed to be coming from within her throat. "I gotta say, I'm lookin forward to hearin more about ya, where ya come fr-

"W-what in Oblivion is _that_?"

Antoinetta's blood froze in her veins, and her feet stopped moving altogether, cutting Gogron off and causing him to stop as well, arm still about her shoulder as he peered down at her sickly pale, utterly frightened face. His grin faded, and he followed her eyes to the corridor, towards the sounds of shuffling boots carrying themselves inexorably towards them.

A living skeleton moved towards Antoinetta, it's fleshless bared skull grinning back at her maliciously as it's leering jaw opened and closed, clicking together and unifying with the creaking of it's limbs. It moved quite slowly, mindlessly like a drone of sorts for some supernatural queen, yet never ceasing. It was enveloped in the same black shroud-like body suit that Ocheeva had been wearing, but it was covered in layers of collected dust and entire sections of the armour had rotted away or been shredded off, save the coat covering it's chest and the pair of knee guard adorned leggings and boots that stopped at it's exposed hip bones. In one enclosed bone hand, somehow, it had the strength to carry a great steel battle axe so very much like the one strapped to Gogron's own back and hold it out in front of it's self, with a matching kite-like shield in the other, without either of the limbs snapping off and falling to the floor under the weight. Although it made no hostile or threatening sounds, indeed, it moved as if it held no genuine awareness of them, Antoinetta drew back fearfully against Gogron's suit of armour as it neared them, only to watch it pass them right by, bound for the very main floor they were vacating, shuffling and creaking as it lurched.

Gogron uttered another laugh as it passed them, shaking his nearly bare head slightly, his grin increasing tenfold as he watched Antoinetta's fearful, confused face.

"There there Little Sister, he's the Sanctuary's Dark Guardian, he's one of us!", The Orc informed her motioning to the skeleton creature Antoinetta could not take her eyes off. It moved back down the Sanctuary floor they had departed from, towards the hooded Lucien, the shrouded Ocheeva and the displeased Khajiit, all three of them still watching her.

"O-one of you?"

"Well... yeah, sorta. I mean he's more faithful, agreeable and a lot less annoying now then he ever was before, actually", Gogron replied with a trace of reminiscence, withdrawing his arm from her shoulders momentarily and rubbing his chin with his free hand, bright eyes dancing. "He uh... thought it would be a good idea to break the Tenets ya see, so Lucien dropped by to discuss the matter with him. I guess you could say his body is still paying it's promised dues to Sithis _for_ him. Just look at Lucien, you'll see what I'm talking about. He does _damn _fine work".

Antoinetta, beginning to calm down, at least partially, with this reasonable, if concerning explanation, drew her wide eyed gaze away from the Skeleton's retreating back, past the scowling Khajiit, whose arms were still very much crossed over his chest, and up the length of the hall her mysterious Speaker stood motionlessly within beside the motherly Argonian woman who had welcomed her so graciously. Lucien Lachance's attractive face, illuminated within the hood by candle light even with the distance between them, peered back at her gently, a trace of a smile remaining on his lips, and, catching her eyes, he inclined his head as if he had read their minds and had decided to confirm Gogron's statement for him, and causing the Orc to burst out into roaring laughter behind her.

"See what I mean?", Gogron asked delightedly, wrapping a guiding arm about her again and spurring them into motion back down the corridor. Antoinetta reluctantly glanced away from Lucien and back up to Gogron as they prepared to round the corner... but just as they were to step out of sight, her eyes flickered sideways back in her Speaker's direction one final time, savouring his presence before it was extinguished in the form of them passing from his line of sight. Her heart seemed to sink lower in her chest, and she bit again at her lower lip, returning her attention to the corridor in an attempt to abate it. "Right over here Little Sister".

The great doors to Ocheeva's quarters were on their immediate left, and they were already open as if waiting to receive them. Gogron led her into the room, illuminated by further candle light, which was spacious yet scarcely furnished, save the simple table and chair in the corner, a large circular rug running along the centre of the stone floor like the others she had seen, and a lone comfortable looking bed on the opposite side of the room. Gogron continued to guide her, moving with all due haste past the doors and towards the bed. Once they had reached it, the Orc carefully withdrew his arm from Antoinetta and drew back the covers of the bed, ushering her into it gently. Antoinetta lowered herself delicately down upon it before rising her exposed legs from the floor and laying back shyly, her head touching and sinking into the pillow. She took a sweet inward breath. In spite of the aching along her body, being reintroduced to the comfort of a bed, so entirely different from the muck and rock of the city streets, made her smile gratefully, ignoring the pain. Gogron lifted the thick blanket again, and tenderly pulled it up to her neck, bringing further warmth to her body, and to the peace of her mind.

"Thank you, Gogron", she breathed softly, closing her eyes for a moment and wrapping her arms around herself, in which time the Orc drew up the chair from the table and brought it to her bedside, taking a seat in it. "You are each being so very kind to me".

"Aw it's nothin Sister", Gogron insisted embaressedly, waving a hand, yet his tusk-like teeth continuing to grin, and Antoinetta's eyes opened again. "Vicente will be up to fix ya up in no time, and we'll get some food in your stomach and some meat back on your bones just as quickly. Though I have to warn you about something before you meet him, don't want ya getting surprised or anything... he's uh... well you see...-

"What is it Gogron?", Antoinetta enquired softly, her curiosity piquing as the Orc searched for the adequate summary. "Warn me of what?"

"He's a terrible cook", Gogron finally answered, laughing again and leaning in his seat, seemingly unable to stay in his seat longer then a minute without fidgeting. "He cooks most of the grub around this place, other then me, and he thinks his meals are a delicacy. Without me this Sanctuary would probably rather starve it's self to death. We have a thing going on, I guess you could say, over who cooks. I try to cook as often as possible... but he usually gets his way somehow. Thought I'd warn you to prepare for that... not that anyone _can _prepare for his food... other then by getting a coffin ready. Don't tell em I said that".

Antoinetta smiled politely.

"At this stage in my life, I think I've come to realize any food is welcome food", She replied quietly after giving him a moment to laugh about his comment. "Regardless of how it is cooked. A full stomach is a full stomach, there's no need to fight over who cooks better... I simply appreciate meals".

Gogron raised his thick eyebrows and tilted his head slightly in clear bemusement.

"I think you're gonna get along pretty well with Telaendril when she get's back... uh, one of your Sisters that is. Yeah, she's gonna be pretty damn happy to see ya. She's always giving me hell about the whole thing actually, says me and Valtieri are being childish... whatever I say, I'm just trying to save the Sanctuary from a plague of bad food. Food doesn't need to be treated as a delicacy or fine cuisine... you can't go wrong with mutton, bread, potatoes and beer I say. No need to make complicated dishes I can't even bloody-well pronounce. Anyways, I'm sure once you're healthy again, and you've eaten both of our dinners for awhile, you'll realize quite quickly which of us is the superior cook... I'll give ya a hint: it sure as the Void ain't him".

Antoinetta laughed quietly for a moment, coughing again but ignoring the soreness it brought, joining in with his far deeper booming laughter, but she stopped before he did, peering up at the ceiling and sighing gently.

"Well, I'll see soon enough I suppose. It's not a bad situation to be in... one where either way I am fed... especially not after the places I've been."

She spoke this with a sort of distance in her voice... her past was known to her all to well. It was her present and future that mattered more, each of which brought smiles to her face, and she pressed on.

"I'm happy to be here... Gogron. I never believed... something like this might happen.", She continued, speaking quite honestly of herself, more so then she had in some time. "I did not believe the world held anything for me any longer. I was wrong, and I've never been so glad to have been."

"Like I said, that's the proper spirit to maintain", Gogron beamed, understanding himself what it was she referred to. "Can't say I expected all this either... new family, love... people to slaughter. You know what I always say about this time? The family that slays together stays together! Keep that in mind. Hell, we've got it all! It's a paradise in it's self. You'll have to tell me sometime about the people you killed to get here... you're in no condition to do that now, obviously... so why don't I fill your head with a few of my own tales until Vicente gets up? I love talking about my contracts... if it's no bother of course... man, I can almost hear Telaendril complaining from here... 'Gogron, leave the poor girl alone!' ".

Antoinetta, unable to speak often in light of her respiratory problems, did not consider it a bother to listen to her new brothers account, and she smile warmly, encouraging him to begin. Gogron spoke for a brief time of one of his most recent murders, and in quite a bit of detail that Antoinetta enjoyed... for the most part she merely listened, nodding occasionally or making a comment that drew laughs from the Orc. Yet, as Gogron neared the conclusion of his tale, he was eventually interrupted by the presence of a figure that had moved to the opened doorway, drawing Antoinetta's attention away from the avid Orc, and soon after, he too.

- , I mean, I told him he wouldn't like me when I'm angry... but does that stop him? Of course not. So my hands are around this big bastard's neck, he's choking on his own blood and spluttering out all kinds of nonsense I couldn't even understand... mind you he just got me in the shoulder and gut with his dagger, so I reach for the axe, and I go for his- Vicente! There there you are old man, bout time ya showed up".

The figure that stood in the doorway quite calmly was that of a Breton man clad entirely not in any armour or robe, but in dark yet fine clothing, including a kind of vest and shirt combination, an unbuttoned long frock coat and a pair of equally dark boots, alongside a glinting golden amulet that hung loosely from his neck. By contrast of this darkness, the pale flesh of his face was nearly ethereal in the occasional flickering of the light, matching or even surpassing Antoinetta's own pallor, to her muted shock. His face was smooth and clear, yet extraordinarily wizened, and his colourless eyebrows themselves seemed almost non existent against the backdrop of his flesh. In spite of this, his long hair, fastened back into a neat ponytail to reveal his smooth forehead and ears, was, for the most part, black, save few shades of grey betraying themselves at his bangs. His lips were somehow almost unnaturally thin, as well as being as pale as his flesh. There was a calm eloquence to his presence as he merely stood peering back at the room's occupants, one long, almost spidery hand holding a dark kit bag down at his side, the other very much relaxed on the opposite side. He seemed so very worldly and knowing, his manner quiet and subdued, unlike the boasting of the happy Orc, and utterly self assured. He did not look like a murderer of any kind, so much as he did an undertaker for a mortuary, or a librarian of sorts even. Antoinetta almost half expected his kitbag to be entirely filled with books. He held not the outwardly jolly and brutish nature of Gogron, nor the inverted meanness of the Khajiit, but somehow owed more to Lucien Lachance in his manner... in his mere presence, though in many ways still quite different. Behind him, the bitter faced Khajiit from earlier wearing mage robes lurked just outside in the corridor, not joining the Breton man in the doorway and looking every bit the way he had when Antoinetta had first arrived. He too peered into Ocheeva's room, but did so reluctantly and not kindly as the pale man now did. The Khajiit stared at her with nothing less then the same contempt brimming over in his feline features that caused the girl to look away, continuing to focus almost solely upon the pale man. The Breton's eyes rested upon Gogron for a moment, and it was he the Breton first addressed before turning his attention again to Antoinetta.

"I apologize for the interruption, dear Brother", Came a silky, well sophisticated and accented voice, and the Breton nodded courteously, remaining in the doorway a little longer. "I know how much you love recounting your stories of bloodshed to an attentive audience..."

"Aw no worries", Gogron laughed and rose from his seat, stepping away from the bedside to allow the Breton room and stretching his limbs before adjusting his gauntlets nonchalantly. At last, Vicente entered the room, moving until he stood at the very end of her bed, his long shadow falling overtop of her. In the corridor, the Khajiit, Antoinetta noticed, finally drew a little closer to the doorway now that it was empty, and he folded his arms back across his chest, leaning against it as silently as before. "I'll have plenty of time to tell her about them later... you got more important things to do here then me".

Vicente Valtieri's calm eyes, nearly submerged in shadow, were nevertheless almost grandfatherly in nature, which turned back in Antoinetta's direction, and he simply peered down at the thin, dishevelled girl for the briefest of moments before a calm, satisfied smile touched his lips, and he nodded to himself.

"Ah, but _you _must be the so called _'Little Blonde Whelp_', to edit out the more... colourful language used, of course, that M'raaj Dar here was referring to". Vicente commented, distinctly amused, kindly features flickering back into the direction of the sour mannered Khajiit in the doorway, and Antoinetta followed his gaze, her bruised cheeks going ever more crimson with immediate shame. The Khajiit, Mraaj Dar, merely scowled back at the Breton and Orc before muttering something inaudible and undoubtedly malevolent under his breath that Antoinetta didn't catch.

"My name is Antoinetta Marie, sir", Antoinetta spoke to the pale faced man shamefacedly, redrawing his entire focus to her at once. And added for Mraaj Dar's benefit the words: "And I'm no whelp".

"I _too _can see as much. And might I add, that is a very beautiful Bretonic name at that, dear girl, one you are worthy of possessing in every regard.", Vicente assured her quite politely, and his raised his Kitbag before opening it. Antoinetta smiled at his show of kindness, again finding herself reminded of the robed Imperial. He held a unique charisma about him, one of refined, aged sophistication that almost seemed to come from another place and time, another Era entirely. "Please allow me to introduce myself... my own is Vicente Valtieri I serve this Sanctuary in a great many ways... one of them is the healing of injured Brothers and Sisters... and I can see my services are certainty required here. Come now, there's no need to be looking embarrassed, I've seen far worse in my lifetime to be sure... not that I say this to diminish what you have undoubtedly gone through, of course".

"I'd say you have your work cut out for you this morning, kind sir", Antoinetta replied apologetically, glancing down at her thin, blanket covered body. "You might need a team of healers to repair... _this_".

As they spoke, Gogron too watching them with interest, M'raaj Dar took the distraction and made to leave at once silently, uncrossing his arms. Without even glancing back over his shoulder, even while he simultaneously scanned the inside of his kitbag intently, Vicente addressed him again, pausing him in his tracks.

"And Mraaj Dar?", His calm, smooth voice began inquisitively.

The Khajiit reluctantly turned back around a final time, still silent and foreboding as ever.

"Would you be so kind as to retrieve a bucket of warm water and a clean cloth?", Vicente requested kindly, looking up from his bag again to Antoinetta. He made his way around the side of the bed to the chair Gogron had just vacated and set his kitbag down upon it, yet remained standing. "It would come in handy for removing the dirt from this poor child, please and thank you very much".

M'raaj Dar grunted noncommittally in response before uncrossing his arms and departing back into the Sanctuary's corridors, passing out of sight, the echo of his footfalls following suit. Vicente waved a hand dismissively, exchanging a knowing smirk with the amused Gogron.

"Pay no attention to Mraaj Dar's unmitigated unkindness, Antoinetta", He continued on when the Khajiit had departed out of earshot. "He treats all newcomers that way... for that matter, he even behaved that way when he was a newcomer himself, but he doesn't truly mean it. He truly does have another, far lovelier, deeper side to him. You might say in many regards, however, that he is our resident jerk-with-a-heart-of-gold. He merely takes some getting used to. A great deal of getting used to, to be sure... but nevertheless...".

"Hell, _I'm _still getting used to him!", Gogron interjected suddenly with a flashing grin being sent to Antoinetta. "I don't even think Lucien has gotten half way there yet! Guess you could say that cat is a real sourpuss".

The armoured Orc uttered another loud laugh that carried about the entire room, and Antoinetta couldn't help but join in quietly, earning a pleased look from the Breton man, who himself chuckled merrily.

"_Precisely _Gogron. My advice to you, dear child, is to simply be yourself.", Vicente suggested warmly at last, rubbing his white as stone long fingered hands together. "Behave as you normally would around him... do not allow him to discourage your unique personality from being brought forth... or you may end up just as bitter and nearly single minded as he... and what a shame that would be to the world".

"I'll remember that Mister Valtieri", Antoinetta promised with a genuine smile, her laughs subsiding. "Thank you".

"Think nothing of it dear", Vicente replied swiftly, still smiling. He went inside himself for a moment, as he peered down at her, considering her malnourished state, and his attention returned the room's other occupant standing close at hand.

"Gogron, I'm sure Antoinetta here could use something to eat before she goes to sleep", The Breton suggested to him, inclining his head. "It would certainly do wonders, food being it's own great medicine, that of energy. Perhaps you should head down to the pantry and retrieve some of the leftovers from supper for her".

"You read my mind Vicente", Gogron replied, stepping closer to the bed. He glanced down at Antoinetta at mention of meals and winked rather conspiratorially. "But I can do much better then just heating up some of your... uh, _food_. I think I'll add a few of my own little contributions".

"Yes yes, whatever you wish", Vicente replied with a clear hint of exasperation. He motioned back to the doorway Mraaj Dar had departed from and waved towards it. "Just don't burn everything to a crisp this time... won't you?"

Gogron's thick brows furrowed together with mock anger and irritation, and for an instant, it was almost a perfect imitation of the Khajiit... save the distinct lack of hair.

"That was _once _Valtieri, and I got a lot less complaints about it then you did with your-

"The food will not prepare it's self dear Brother", Vicente interrupted abruptly, holding up a hand to cut him off and smirking. "You had best get on to it, thank you very much".

Against his better judgement, in light of the newest addition to the family requiring it, Gogron subsided, if only for the moment, to Vicente's request, and he grimaced with a look that could have matched the Khajiit's.

"Yeah yeah, I'm on it.", the Orc muttered dismissively, scratching unconsciously the surface of his green bald head. Before leaving entirely, his jolly eyes flickered back to the diminutive young woman, and his rough gauntlet patted her on the shoulder kindly. "Don't let the old man bore you or anything Little Sister, ask him a single question and he rambles on forever. We don't all have the luxury of all the time in the world."

On that last note the Orc shot a final brotherly challenging look at the wizened Breton, and passing him, bumped his shoulder purposefully. To Antoinetta's surprise, Vicente did not stagger, nor scarcely even shifted his comfortable standing position against the force of the roughened steel shoulder pad, merely continued to smirk benignly as Gogron too departed into the Sanctuary halls, leaving the pair of Breton's alone. At last, his attention returned to her, and he laughed quietly.

"There are many colourful individuals wandering around in this Sanctuary, dear child", He informed her resolutely, looking satisfied with Gogron's departure. "To say nothing of that over sized green one. You may hear some complaints out of him about how I cook now and again, but as with M'raaj Dar's mumbling, you would do well to pay little attention to them. I do not particularly like to brag, but I was once something of a connoisseur of the more delectable food palates... and it is a skill I have retained, no matter what others might wish to imply otherwise".

"He was talking about it earlier, Mister Valtieri", Antoinetta admitted with a faint smile. "I have to say I'm already looking forward to seeing each of your dishes for myself."

"As long as you manage to avoid his blackened husks of potatoes and meat, I should think you'll be well satisfied with the food around here", Vicente replied at once kindly, satisfied with her interest. "And please, do call me Vicente... around here we are on first name basis's... no need for surnames only... unless you were to entertain the preferences of a certain Khajiit..."

"I'll be sure to remember that too Mister-... I mean, Vicente". Antoinetta caught herself abruptly, earning another appreciative look from the extraordinarily pale man.

"Good. And now that we have settled that, we might focus on the more pressing matter at hand".

Vicente silently moved closer to her bedside, studying her injured state quite intently. He sat down partially at her side on the bed, and he leaned downward as he hovered over her, his golden amulet swinging forward in her direction, catching her attention. It was simple, yet beautiful, complimenting his choice of dark attire. His shadowed gaze became piercing, eyes narrowing as if he could see the ailments within Antoinetta's very body, and she glanced away nervously as he focused upon her bruises and facial cuts amongst the dirt. He released a sympathetic tsk tsk, and his long fingers rose to her cheek, gently feeling a particular purple bruise that rested there. The moment his hand made contact with the surface of her face, Antoinetta nearly started with surprise. His ghostly white hands were as cold as the streets of the Imperial City and Cheydinhal, as if in them alone he manifested the Evening Star. Vicente shook his head slightly as Antoinetta examined the nails of his hand with nearly the same level of shock... for how many times before had she witnessed fingernails as clear as glass?

"Dear me... whichever filthy animal that is responsible for all these bruises ought to be hung to near death, drawn, emasculated, exsanguinated and quartered", His hushed voice muttered coldly to himself, and he leaned a little closer, the light finally catching his grim, pale face properly, and Antoinetta peered back up at him, aghast. "A service I would be more then happy to provide... of course."

"Ex... exsanguinated?", Antoinetta's quiet and quavery voice enquired blankly, picking out the unfamiliar word from the others. As she spoke it, her wide eyes continued to consider his own pair with surmounting trepidation. There was something... something altogether not right about them, that formed a lump in her throat. It had to be the candle-lights, perhaps at an unusual angle, combined with her own malnourishment that was playing tricks with her mind. She was certain of this... but nevertheless, when she blinked, her sight did did not correct it's self.. and the longer the effect remained, the more fearful she became.

"Drained of their blood, dear", Vicente answered simply, not even glancing up at her, his thin, almost non existent lips now tightened. "Though the blood of an animal, particularly a stupid one, has little nutritional or taste value to me, to be sure".

Antoinetta's already wide eyes bulged at this revelation, and she nearly recoiled as if the Breton had suddenly shouted or waved a sword and flaming torch at her. Beneath the blanket, her hands trembled as goosebumps that had been forming already now took hold along her thin arms entirely. How had she not realize it sooner? The inhumanly pale skin, dark clothing... the... the...

"You're a... a...-

"I am over three hundred years old", Vicente answered almost absently as his unnaturally powerful fingers traced the perimeter of a deep cut along her chin. His scarlet iris's glittered as they studied it without even blinking, having long ago lost the bodily requirement of having to do so... yet continued to here and there purely out of human habit. "And my body shall never succumb to the ravages of time, disease, nor any other natural cause."

-...Vampire", Antoinetta finished, her voice now embodying the trembling of her hands. She didn't look away from the Breton, lest he lunge for her presented throat... something he could do quite easily even if she didn't.

He did not.

The Vampire smiled at her reassuringly, patiently nevertheless, but this did little to help her state of mind. Legends and Lore of olde raced through her mind, and he knew the familiar signs of it at once.

"I am flesh and blood as you are now, but I am not a man. I have not been since a routine expedition to Morrowind. It is nearly as simple as that, but I would rather not, as Gogron said, run the risk of boring you with details, should you have no interest in hearing them", Vicente informed her politely, drawing back his hands from her face, his own taking on a grandfatherly. soothing look again. He studied her anxiety, something he had seen probably a million times before, and his genial smile remained, a smile she focused on more intently then before, but was incapable of glimpsing the particular sharpened teeth that drew the blood. "Not all do care to hear the ramblings of an 'old man'. Please do not be afraid of my less then usual appearance, dear sister... I will not harm you, nor shall I ever or wish to do so. You have my promise on that. My devotion to Sithis and the family goes above all else, even the most desperate of red thirsts, I assure you... and I am already quite full this morning already as it is. Here, you need to drink this before I can continue with your healing process".

Antoinetta breathed deeply as his hand outstretched towards the open kitbag on the chair, and he produced a small red bottle, much like the one Lucien had provided her, yet glowing more vividly then that one had been. He swirled it about slightly before uncapping it and passing it over to her. Slowly, she took it, and at his encouraging smile, she forced herself to drink it. The effect was as it had been at the earlier potion, but more powerful then she could have imagined, a warmth filling her body as she gasped at it's bitter potency, even her hunger being momentarily lapsed. A potency that overwhelmed even the pain and fever wishing to overtake her, and reneverating her. Vicente took the empty bottle from her hand before her loosened fingers dropped it accidentally on account of their steady loosening, and placed it back into the bag before leaning back over her, scarlet eyes now examining her injured arms, where held the telltale signs of numerous bite wounds. He glanced back up to her anxious face, and spoke again.

"How are you feeling now, dear sister?", he enquired gently, studying her eyes, which were only now beginning to relax at least partially, yet her body rigid with traces of fear. "I apologize for the shock... some are incapable of receiving this news forthright... there being a stigma against my kind. I had expected Gogron to tell you ahead of time... but more often then not these things slip his... uh, _mind_.".

Antoinetta studied his ernest, kind face, ignoring the telltale signs of his supernatural condition. His words and care for her were genuine as Lucien's had been... as Ocheeva's and Gogron's had been. Who or what he was did nothing to change even this. He had not drained her of her blood the moment he had set eyes upon her, nor tore her limb from limb as many were reputed to do. There was no unkindness or violence in his outward manner, and it was this that set him apart from an Orc like Gogron. He wished only the best for her, and was doing all he could to bring this about. The fact that a creature, a Vampire, was capable of feeling the desire to help her, and this where so many other humans had not, had done the exact opposite, effected something deeply within Antoinetta, and shook the foundations of one of her prejudices in regards to the undead... which, in turn, created an ever quickening curiosity. She took her time to answer, thinking of Lucien's encouraging face as she did so, his mention of the kind of family this Sanctuary held... and his voice soothed her more then even the potions had even been able to do. She breathed, and she did so with an anxiety that was now gradually waning... and slowly, a hint of radiance in her smile was drawn out from her. Antoinetta spoke her thoughts without any further fear or a shakiness to her voice, at long last.

"Since meeting Lucien Lachance... I have been inducted into a kind hearted family of murderers who worship the Deity of chaos and despair... turned invisible, was introduced to an undead horse that rose up from the earth to take me to this Sanctuary, met a jolly Orc assassin who just tried to hug me to death and nearly walked head first into a living skeleton brandishing an axe.", Antoinetta spoke each these words quite calmly, resolutely. "I think somewhere along a path like that, I was bound to end up meeting a friendly well spoken Vampire... so why not go and add you to the list?"

Vicente Valtieri burst out into gales of delighted laughter, not merely the restrained chuckle he had effected earlier in Gogron's presence. He clutched his sides as he did so, and Antoinetta found herself joining him, furthered by the lessened amount of pain in doing so. It went on for quite some time before Valtieri managed to get a hold of himself... but by this time, tears had begun to stream freely from his face. They were not tears as Antoinetta, a human, knew them... but twin scarlet streams as red as his eyes. Blood, trickling steadily down his face. He wiped his cheeks off with the sleeve of his dark coat, it's shade nevertheless leaving stains behind as he recovered himself, drawing in breaths he did not need.

"That's more like it", Vicente smiled pleasurably, wiping at the corner of his eyes again. Regardless of his attempt to remove the stains, the scarlet iris were still filled with the bodily liquid. "I think you're going to fit in quite well here, Antoinetta... with an attitude such as that, unshrouded by shyness. Try to aim for more of that, won't you? It's so very refreshing to hear".

"I suppose I could manage it", Antoinetta replied honestly, wiping her own eyes free of salty, clear tears. "May take a little while though..."

"Wonderful to hear... on a similar note to your thinking, you know, we also have a pet rat in the

Sanctuary as well... perhaps that will seem at least a little less strange compared to the other things we possess".

"I've seen many rats in my life", Antoinetta answered slowly, considering this statement as she glanced down at the bites on her arms. "And I can say they appeal to me less then that skeleton".

"Indeed so", Vicente replied quite sympathetically. "At least our own has been tamed... and is neither rabid or disease carrying."

Antoinetta smiled again a little, satisfied to hear this much, at least.

"Ah... Lucien did well to recruit you, dear child", Vicente continued on, lowering his stained sleeve from his face at last. The pleased smile remained on his smooth, wizened features. "He, like our Mother, has always had a remarkable eye for unique individuals. Anyways, now that you are so clearly rejuvenated to a degree, we must attend to your bodily ailments before they can worsen".

It was this mention of the robed Imperial that took her focus away from the laughter and delight that had transpired, and, collecting herself too, her attention became rapt, the tiredness she felt remaining at the edges of her perception, kept forcibly at bay. Whether it was the conversation or potion that had done this, she did not know, nor cared to know. A question rose to mind amidst all the others that were beginning to arise, only now that she began to grasp her presence within this new home, and, her voice quieting a little, she sought to present it.

"Can I ask you a question, Vicente? If it's no trouble?"

"You may ask me as many of them as you wish, child. I always welcome those who seek knowledge... and the opportunity to speak".

"How well do you... know the Speaker?", Antoinetta enquired, just as Vicente reached again for his kitbag and began to rummage through it, bringing forth a second, larger bottle, it's contents murky, dark and unpleasant. At this question, his piercing blood stained eyes shot back up to hers calmly, and she blushed in spite of herself, looking away hurriedly from it's subtle, perhaps understanding intensity. She ran a hand through her unkempt, greasy bangs, and Vicente watched as her prior excitement was replaced just as quickly by the flustered shyness only a young woman could display. And he knew at once it's source. "I mean to say... I just met him... and he's _very_... well... it's hard to describe it, you know-

"Oh my yes, how is it I could forget this part? It was certainly inevitable", The Vampire interjected politely, turning the murky potion over in his hands, smile definitely knowing, and deepening her crimson blush. Her blue eyes flickered back to his scarlet ones as innocently as possible, but they were incapable of fooling him, and with his growing smile, she forced herself to drop the innocence, silent curiosity taking over as he delved further into explanation. "How many times have I seen this unfold before now? Really, I've lost count. He holds quite the captivation over others you see... it is a natural ability even I with all my powers and century's of knowledge have come to envy at time's. It's the way he speaks and gazes back at you, isn't it? As if he alone truly knows you... as if he can glimpse within the individual layers that compose your very soul, the pains within it and take you away from any problem plaguing you like a masterful practitioner of Restoration. I cannot say I was surprised when he became Speaker... his voice is but one of his many unparalleled skills".

Vicente had summed up her thoughts more perfectly then she could put it into words, and her wide eyed silence informed him of this indefinitely.

"But to answer your original enquiry", the Vampire went on after giving her a few moments of consideration on the matter. "I have known Lucien Lachance since he was a young man... I've taught him a few things here or there and _never _have I met another, be it a simple murderer or the Listener himself, so utterly and incomparably breathtaking as he. Sithis has perhaps never had a finer or more devout child in His service. We are all here so very fortunate to have him, just as others are equally unfortunate to have him as an enemy".

Again, her fascinated silence provided him an answer, that she agreed word for word entirely with his summary... and her blush remained palpable for quite some time afterword

"I'll tell you more of what I know about him anytime you want. However...", Vicente said, moving on again from the detour. He held the small, murky bottle up in front of her, passing it off and allowing her to examine it. "We must first purge your body of the unpleasant illnesses you have caught... and _this_should suffice. They were each evident from the symptoms you carry from the moment I entered... but my examinations have proven them. I am, however, fortunately quite sufficient enough in the field of Alchemy to be able to create a potion that can cure most ailments".

Antoinetta peered into the dark, murky depths of the strange, less then favourable looking potion, and she closed her eyes, her grip tightening upon the bottle firmly.

"What... what diseases have I caught then?", She asked hesitantly, not much looking forward to the inevitable answer, yet knowing it's necessity. "How bad is it?"

"Your coughing and respiratory problems can be attributed to advanced Blood Lung... something I have seen quite often before", Vicente informed her gently, rubbing his thin lips unconsciously as he continued to consider her state. "And your overly pale pallor, in addition to the chills and weakness not only brought on by malnourishment, can be easily attributed to the later stages of Bone Break Fever."

His eyes descended again to the deep telltale bites along her arms, most scarcely healed and he shook his head sympathetically as she at last opened her eyes.

"These illnesses share the common root of being held by Scheevers, which more often then any other animal possess them, being all too common... and more often then not pass along the diseases to those who are forced to dwell in dank sewers, alleyways and the wild, through bites".

Antoinetta laughed a quiet bitter laugh not aimed for him... more towards herself for her lack of carefulness, which had gotten her the diseases in the first place, then anything else.

"Well... that would certainly explain all this now wouldn't it", She answered with a haphazard shrug, glancing down at her only partially healed bite marks with disgust and shame. "I've been living in at least two of those three for awhile... and I've had to pay for it one way or another."

"Do not worry yourself, however", Vicente requested quietly, tilting his head slightly as he considered her evident pain, both internal and externally so. "These bodily ailments can be remedied simply, even if they will take a time to recover fully from. The things that truly effected you out there will not do so here any longer. You are no longer alone in the unknown... I have met very many like you, who have suffered, and I've given them each the same advice: we are free from the misery that lies outside in wait... and we are predators who hold the capability of turning said misery against those who have brought it about upon us to begin with. In this family, we spread not mere simplistic misery... but fear. Fear to the ones who must come to know it. Fear to those who _deserve _it... and we do this in the name of Sithis... in the name of his unholy love that brought us together. You are sick right now... but it will not last, and you will get your chance to bring tidings of fear and despair with the artistic strokes of a blade upon those who would do harm to you... you simply must be patient until that time comes along".

Antoinetta breathed at this statement, and something, perhaps a cold, cruel flame in her heart, whatever it was Lucien had saw in her, became apparent for the briefest of moments, her icy blue eyes relishing the idea of the power she would soon hold, and she returned Vicente's pleased smile.

"I shall", she vowed quietly, heart still pumping quickly as a tirade of hopeful images passed through her mind... each of them bound in blood.

"Excellent, dear child", Vicente replied knowingly, and his eyes flickered back to the potion he had handed her. "You had best drink up now. I must warn you, it will not taste pleasant in the slightest... far from it. It is one of the potions that requires a great many unsavoury ingredients and time to brew before it is complete... but it is perfectly done, and quite necessary."

Antoinetta glanced up from the bottle of muddy liquid and into his genuinely kind, almost benign face. They implored her to trust his word... and to be perfectly honest, she'd not been given any reason to doubt him, or any of the others she had met in this place. Their kindness alone had been more then anyone else in Tamriel, her own family included, had ever done for her. There was little hesitation. She merely nodded, biting at her lip nervously, and uncapped the potion, raising it closer to herself for further inspection.

"Again, my apologies for the taste", Vicente commented quietly as she rose the bottle to her nose, quietly sniffing the scent beginning to roll from it. At this overpowering, rancid smell, she wrinkled her nose and drew partially back from the bottle with a clear grimace. It was one of the foulest scents in all of Tamriel... or at least, one of the most foul she'd ever had the misfortune to encounter. "And for the smell, for that matter. Quite unfortunately they are often times unavoidable side effects of Alchemy. It has very little in common with preparing fine food and drink for others. You must drink the bottle in small doses, not all at once, so as to allow it to gradually settle more easily into your weakened immune system. Take the time in between drinks to try to relax your body. It will be even more difficult in your state, I am loath to tell you".

Antoinetta resisted another grimace, and again she drew the bottle close, this time to her pale lips, doing her best not to smell it. Tilting back her head, the young woman took a sip of the thick, unpleasant concoction, and forced herself to swallow it. At once, she gagged and suffered a coughing fit as the parade of sickening tastes overwhelmed her senses. It seem to rise all the way from the pit of her stomach, to her throat, and reach into her sinus's like a foul living slime. Antoinetta nearly vomited from the potion, but, having nothing in her stomach to begin with, did not, and she gasped as the coughing subsided, and Vicente looked on ever more sympathetically. She had never tasted anything so bad... she who had been forced to eat rotten food in her lifetime. Her body, as with the other potion, had been shaken into alertness, and her heart pounded in her ears to the point she feared it would soon fail her. Eventually, laying back against the pillow, she managed to relax herself enough to go for the second drink, this time pinching her nose as she did it. The effect was less unpleasant... but only mildly so. Again she gagged, but managed to keep herself from going into a painful coughing fit. This continued on and on until the potion lay mercifully empty, and a visibly impressed Vicente took the bottle from her nearly limp hands, and she breathed quietly, feeling the potion moving inexorably about within her malnourished stomach and taking effect.

"You ought to be commended for that display of strength, dear", Vicente told her with a smile and a gentle laugh, stowing the empty bottle from view in his kitbag, and peering back to her. "I don't believe I've ever seen such effort put into drinking that cure... even Gogron once took forever just to reach the halfway mark. Unless I'm mistaken, Telaendril had to hold his hand... and for many times throughout, I was afraid he would begin blubbering like an oversized child... but then he certainly looks like one, hmm?".

It was Antoinetta's turn to laugh, grateful for the, although temporary, distraction from the cramps and pains overwhelming her stomach. Nevertheless, it held not the unceasing, burning kind of pain that had occupied it prior, but rather a dulling sort of pain, and when she breathed, more of the air somehow seemed to be drawn inside her. There was the occasional cough, as before, but it was not so prolonged, nor gut wrenching in the process. She simply breathed for a time, closing her eyes and savouring the loveliness that was air. In the meantime, Vicente was rummaging again through his kitbag, searching quite intently for something else. At last, it emerged in the form of a vial, filled with a kind of thick yellow paste that looked almost as unpleasant as the prior potion. Her eyes began to widen at the idea of requiring another potion of an equalling or... if possible, worse taste, but her fears were allayed by the Vampire nearly at once, who shook his head, eyes gentle.

"No no, it's not another potion or anything like that, I assure you", Vicente promised quickly, removing the lid from the vial. There was no stench filtering off of it, to Antoinetta's deep relief, and she relaxed. "It's an ointment of sorts for healing wounds of the flesh. I noticed the bites and cuts on your arms are not in good condition at all... so perhaps it would be best to take care of them as well, just to be sure. We can't have you walking around with open wounds anyhow, now can we?"

"I suppose not, no", Antoinetta replied quietly, again examining her pallid arms. The bites and cuts lining each were scarcely healed in the slightest... most of which were puffy, swollen and outright infected. Having been unable to find even a bandage, she had been forced to endure every bit of the pain. She wished to be rid of every wound, every mark that she had picked up over the years... she wanted to be reborn, to begin anew with this family... but the scars themselves, in spite of everything, would have to remain, imprinted into the surface of her flesh and the depths of her mind. Nevertheless, they could be overshadowed... and after a moment's contemplation, she forced away her shame, and extended each arm towards Vicente, who dabbed a bit of the paste onto a long index finger, and, with his other hand, took one of her wrists. "I'd appreciate that, thank you".

"Think nothing of it, dear".

The Vampire worked for that particular period mostly in intent silence, carefully applying the medicine to each wound on her arm, and apart from a slight hiss of pain escaping her lungs now and again, which he was clearly doing his best to avoid, and he apologized for politely each time. The warm paste it's self stung for at least a minute or two after it had been applied to the particular section of open skin, but after the initial pain, it would begin to die down gradually as it served it's intended function. It was thick enough to hide most of the bites and cuts from sight, instead taking on the somehow less unpleasant appearance of yellow blotches. The pain meant little to Antoinetta, who simply savoured the fact that a true healing process had begun for them. She had lost count of how many times they had reopened themselves on the Imperial streets, spilling not merely blood, but darker fluids like those she had coughed up before that had nearly frightened her to death. Each moment of pain, Antoinetta knew, would be temporary, at long last, and not remain forever. She didn't remember the last time she had gone to a doctor... to anyone who had fixed her, perhaps when she was a little girl, perhaps only a few years prior... for sometimes things seemed to grow fuzzy in her mind. Time seemed funny. It was as if her memory's warped themselves in and out of existence and varied in their vividness. It had happened on and off due to her deprivation of proper foods her mind required to function properly, she was certain. It had begun sometime around her prior prison sentence. As such, although she wanted to, she could scarcely speak of her own past at that time... of her own memories, and was forced to assume the role of observer and questioner... not that she didn't like this. She had, if anything, more questions now then she ever had in any other time, and relished the role.

There was so much she wanted to know, and every bit of it she looked forward to. There was something in the manner of this family that nevertheless gradually brought her own genuine thoughts back... and not the underdeveloped one's of simple survival instincts that had been prevalent for so long on the streets and prison. Her guard had not been let down so often... but not only had Lucien's kindness managed to do so, but Vicente and the others were beginning to do so as well. The way they had greeted her, as if she had always been one of them... was beyond measure. Tears of happiness threatened to spill from her again, but she forced them back. She had done far too much crying as it was... now she needed to do as her Speaker had bid, and begin to accept her new place here. It was a work in progress... but it was something. Vicente finished up with her arms, and at Antoinetta's sudden recollection, she remembered the others on her legs. Thankfully, none of the rats in the Imperial Sewers had managed to bite her here... but nevertheless, there were a great many deep cuts that too were needing to be attended to. Vicente moved soothingly, his scarlet eyes not missing a single wound, and before long her legs were complete, causing her to smile with relief as he placed the blanket back over her again.

There were only a few left on her shoulders, and it was these he moved his hands to immediately. Focusing his attention on a particularly nasty one, he got to work again, as the vial was beginning to run short of ointment. From behind his shoulder, Antoinetta noticed with a start, a familiar robed figure had appeared in the doorway, his narrowed eyes watching on with displeasure. In one furry hand, the Khajiit, Mraaj Dar, held the handle of a tin bucket of heated water, it's steam rising up through the air, along with a white cloth that also lay inside it. Just as she started to speak, to let Vicente know of his presence... the Vampire, as he had earlier, already knew without glancing away from his work... and he addressed the Khajiit first.

"Ahh, _there_you are M'raaj Dar... come in, come in.", Vicente spoke distantly yet respectfully as the Khajiit finally entered the same room as Antoinetta. He slowly moved over to the side of the bed, eyes flickering between the pair with irritation, before they settled solely on the pale young Breton. For a moment, she felt the urge to look away as she had each time before... but it was Vicente's insistence that she not let him get to her that allowed her, with hesitance albeit, to do otherwise. She stared back at the unblinking Khajiit calmly, herself blinking, and forcing herself not to avert her eyes. His jaw seemed to tighten partially, and he returned his attention entirely to the preoccupied Vampire, settling down the heated bucket beside the chair and again folding his arms over his chest, a position Antoinetta could see, very comfortable to himself.

"I thought you'd get here sooner... heating water doesn't usually take much time at all, I should think".

"It does when you have a blabbering Orc hovering over you, stealing the fireplace to create more of his so called food", M'raaj Dar's annoyed, growling voice answered flatly instead of remaining silent in her presence, surprising Antoinetta. "He has not yet managed to burn anything... surprisingly enough. I'm sure that'll change very soon."

"When you put it that clearly, I believe I see your point Mraaj Dar", Vicente replied after a moments consideration, and, finishing the last of the deep cuts, looked back in the Khajiit's direction, again smiling in a grandfatherly manner. His eyes flickered briefly in the direction of the bucket. "In any event, thank you for carrying out my task at such an ungodly hour... _ah_ how lack of sleep effects even the most _stable _of us".

"If there is nothing else required of me", The tired Khajiit growled humorlessly in turn to this irony, his furrowed, bitter face daring the amused Vampire to contradict him. "If there are no more little menial errands for me to carry out at your behest, I believe I shall turn in for the morning... or don't I have your oh so important permission to sleep?"

"By all mean's M'raaj Dar, you've earned a good rest", Vicente answered swiftly, gesturing politely over to the door. "I'm starting to believe that celebrations should be held whenever you help an 'outsider'... even when it is less then willingly. Though... that _is_every time I suppose. Nevertheless, you've come a long ways to overcoming your fear of change... good on you. Pleasant dreams to you!".

The Khajiit glared daggers at the smiling Vicente, yet dared not flicker his attention in Antoinetta's direction. He muttered something unpleasant to himself and started back for the door quickly, his tail following in his wake. Antoinetta watched him leaving... and could not stifle a sudden impulsive urge. Perhaps it was a wish to break the ice... perhaps it was Vicente's advice again calling to her... or maybe just because she wanted to join in with the Vampire's amusement. Whichever it was, she spoke for the first time in his presence as he had, and she addressed not the Vampire, but him, before he left.

"_Thank you _Mraaj Dar!", Antoinetta Marie spoke up suddenly loudly and sweetly, smiling radiantly from her bed as she did so, causing Vicente's eyes to widen with welcome delight.

The effect was instantaneous.

M'raaj Dar froze up like a statue halfway to the door, as if he had suddenly been encased in liquid marble. He simply stood still for a time, before, at last, his head rose slightly, and turned back to the pair of Bretons, his normally stern eyes blank with confusion as he watched them from over his own shoulder. Vicente was on the verge of laughter, but held himself through sheer effort of will, while Antoinetta's continued to smile glowingly. Slowly, almost dangerously, the Khajiit's eyes tightened on the sickly and dirty faced yet grateful little girl he had coldly insulted, and he looked as if he would speak again. Yet, he seemed to think better of it, grimacing as if he had been the one who'd had to drink the murky potion. He turned at once, and moved even faster, leaving the quarters behind in an instant.

The moment he was gone, and the echoing of his feet and mutterings grew distant enough, the pair burst into laughter again, Antoinetta's smile giving way, her heart pounding. More blood tears filtered from Vicente's eyes, forcing him to stain the other sleeve to remove them. Vicente, very much satisfied with what had occurred, continued to laugh silently as he cried freely with mirth, the laughter making him look quite the opposite of his true age.

"I t-thought he was g-going to lunge at me for a second there", Antoinetta managed, clutching her stomach tightly and laying back further against the pillow, gradually recovering herself, as pleased with the outcome as Vicente. "Does he even know how to smile?"

"I have come to suspect the muscles in his face have simply forgotten how to do so", Vicente answered with a pleasurable sigh as he too began to calm, reaching not for his kit bag, in which he had put the empty vial with the other spent bottles, but down for the handle of the bucket, drawing it closer to the bed and away from the chair. A ghostly pale pair of hands lowered themselves inside, and retrieving the soaked cloth withing, squeezed it tightly, removing the excess warm water back into the bucket.  
>"Rigamortis undoubtedly... but then who am I to talk? It is one of the few plausible explanations remaining... I'd rather believe that then thinking him incapable of doing so. You did well in thanking him... giving him the opposite of the rudeness he tries to sow. He expected you to be angered by his comments, if anything, to fight with him, I think. I'll bet he'll be awake for awhile tossing and turning. He has never been able to understand such a show of kindness being sent his way by those he knows... but for it to be done by one he views as an outsider, one he is frightened of... I believe the more displays you show such as that, the more he will be forced to adapt to them... and, with hope, bring him from his shell. Alas, I have almost always been something of an optimist in one form or another.".<p>

"I'll have keep it up then.", Antoinetta grinned innocently, shaking her head, unkempt blonde hair flapping about. She arched a thin eyebrow. "I'll try to be as much a pain in his side as possible".

"I for one look forward to that already, child", Vicente replied honestly, raising the cloth away from the bucket and up to Antoinetta's dirtied cheek. "Things have been far too dreary around here, as of late... I have always welcomed change where it was required. Dear me, you'll have my entire outfit stained before long. Now I would do well to remove this dirt... one could believe there to be a girl under all of it. A very beautiful one, at that".

With all the tenderness of a father caring for his injured child, Vicente leaned closer and began to wipe away the dirt that had been trying and failing to mar the beauty of the young woman beneath it. The warmth of the gently applied cloth felt nothing less then relaxing... causing Antoinetta's eye to close partially, as she breathed stably, unlabored by pains. It travelled back and forth, rising to her forehead before retreating back into the bucket to collect more of the heat. Droplets trickled down the front of her ghostly pale face and slid over her parched lips and chin, collecting on her front. When the cloth returned, it resumed it's pathway up along her forehead, clearing the remainder of the grime that clung there. It was during this time that a silence resumed between them, broken only by the occasional sprinkling of droplets in the bucket... that is, until her eyes opened, and hesitantly, she too broke it with her now quieted, curious voice. A question had formed it's self within her being at the startling kindness of the Vampire... and she could not help but approach it.

"Um... Vicente?", She began quietly, unsure if she should go through with the personal nature of the question. A question that had been brought forward by her own experiences. She watched his soothing scarlet eyes hovering over her, but they did not gaze back at her.

"Hmm?".

"I was wondering something else... but I wasn't certain if I should ask it. It has to do with... well... with you".

Vicente smiled lightly as he moved the cloth to her other cheek and continued.

"My Vampiric nature, per chance?"

"Well... yes."

"Ask and you shall receive"

There was only another pause of hesitance, before she moved forward in her thinking.

"When you were... well, _turned _into a Vampire... that is to say... given this... thing. What happened to whoever made you? I mean... did they stay with you? Watch over you? Be there for you? Did they give you the same friendliness and lessons you've given me... did they listen to you or did they... did they abandon you?"

A blush threatened to break out like a rash across Antoinetta's face as Vicente's deathly pale hands stopped rubbing the cloth on it, and slowly drew back. His scarlet eyes seemed to grow distant as he considered her question. The urge to retract the question occurred at once to Antoinetta, but he answered her before she could do so.

"I learned absolutely _nothing_ from the one who made me", His voice replied, now a shade quieter then it had been before, carrying, for the first time, a trace of bitterness mingled with something Antoinetta could not quite place... perhaps lament. His eyes settled back upon her, his thin lips tightened partially, pale features betraying nothing too overt. "The Dark Gift was given to me unintentionally by a mindless creature who wanted nothing more then to feast on me... a creature, by all accounts, who, like many others of the night, is a discredit to my kind. I never _had _a choice in the matter".

Antoinetta was silent, entirely awakened and knowing better then to say anything further, hanging to every word with ever building fascination. She was unable to voice any more of her questions... but his scarlet eyes seemed to peer inside her heart, and study each of them before they could be posed, for, raising the cloth again to her face, he continued to speak quietly as he performed his task, the bitterness fading at least a little ways as he explained further, his voice taking on a kind of distance and self assurance.

"No... dear child, I was forced find my own way in the night. Forced to struggle with my new Red Thirst... a preternatural hunger beyond any I could have imagined possible, or can even describe. For decades afterword, I travelled all the way around the Nirn, preying on those I needed to... taking the sweetness of their blood and their lives indiscriminately like my dear creator before me... yet forcing myself ever forward with my evil, an evil that once repulsed me more then anything else I knew. I was myself a poor example back then. I lacked perspective, focus and insight with myself, and the beauty of the world at large. I was but one creature attempting to understand it's permanent, unfixing existence, and praying upon the world with it's presence. Skyrim, Morrowind, The Summerset Isles... my mortal home of Highrock... it didn't matter where I went or what other Vampires I met in my travels, I carried the burdens of what I was with me, and none of them held any of the answers I sought. There was a time there, in the initial stages of my new night life, in which I wanted nothing more then to build a bonfire and waltz into it... and kiss eternity, or bury myself down in the earth for century's before waking again, to end the whole thing, the suffering, the prolonged confusions."

"I could not bring myself to do either... there was so much I needed to know, to learn... and I did. Gradually. I needed to keep pushing on, to thrive and embrace what I was... to spite my own mortal coil... but it was far from easy... indeed, it was one of the most difficult things I have been tasked with. I surely would have found the looming madness that perhaps had overtaken my maker, or death by my own hand... had it not been for the sweet mercy of the Night Mother, for Sithis, and the Dark Brotherhood. Within the first century of my new life, in which I had watched so many fall at my hands, they found me, and gave me the purpose, guidance and the love I required above all else. It was with this purpose, this new found understanding, I could focus my efforts upon, and, while using the skills and knowledge of the hunt I had learned well over the years, I could resolve the opposing incomplete sides of myself."

"I fully embraced the Dark Gift in it's entirety as I never had at any time prior... I learned to actually savour the very death I had been surrounded by nightly... the blood on my hands, the trickling of it rushing down my throat and enriching my senses, and to enjoy the quickening every moment of it gave me, not to hate myself as I did so. I have not been in conflict with myself ever since that time... and as such, have been learning ever more then I had dreamed to know over the past two century's. I owe so very much to the Brotherhood... a debt my eternal service cannot hope to pay for... but for long as I am, I will serve the Dread Father. I have been apart of many different family's and Sanctuary's across Tamriel... and I have passed on the guidance I attained, in hopes of saving those who suffer or have suffered as I have. I have helped many... and will continue to do so for an eternity. A lack of purpose, is by all accounts the most terrible fate of all to befall one. As I passed these lessons on, I have watched those I love grow old and pass on into the Void to serve forever at the Dread Father's side... from all these different familys I have been apart of. I have remembered each of their names, what they looked like, how they spoke and behaved with perfect accuracy. I remember every single moment I shared with each of them."

"They are apart of me, and make up the one you see before you on this day. Yet... for all the eternal love I still hold for them... it is this Cheydinhal family that has meant the most to me. Coming to Cyrodiil, meeting the charming and incomparable young man that was Lucien Lachance, guiding him as he inflicted so many glorious deaths, all of which will be remembered by people across Tamriel for as long as they live yet not knowing his identity, watching him pass like a passionate whirlwind through the ranks until he sat at last upon the mighty Black Hand in all it's terrible glory... and coming to this Sanctuary as it's new voice, following the death of one of the other Fingers. I have never possessed Lucien Lachance's ambition... merely a thirst for knowledge, therefore, I will always remain here as often as possible, guiding others like him to reach the upper echelons that are their opportunity's, and their destiny. It is the family members who came since he took over, in _this_ time of my life, who have had the most profound effect upon me... and now, following the death of one I loved... a child I was yet to perfect through my lessons, and the departure of another who has ascended to the Talons of the Hand, Sithis and Lucien have brought you to us... and it is _this_, _this _time, that gives me more life in each of my waking hours then the precious drops of the stolen blood residing within that composes me.".

Vicente lowered the cloth again from her, inspecting her clean face, free of all but bruises, to find a pair of rapt blue eyes gazing back at him, stunned into silence. He merely smiled, returning from his contemplation, a white eyebrow raising it's self slightly as he dropped the cloth back into the bucket.

"In many regards, you share _much_ in common with me, Antoinetta... _no_, I am quite serious in this sentiment", he spoke quickly, glimpsing the momentary stirrings of scepticism that passed behind her attentive face. "I could tell nearly at once the numerous ways in which you have suffered simply by looking into your eyes... not every particular detail... but much of it. You possess an unguarded mind, one, I am both surprised and pleased to find, has not succumb to outright uncontrollable insanity under the difficulty's of time. I cannot read insanity, nor do I pry into the deepest and most private thoughts of my Family. I choose to limit myself in this regard... to read what is at the surface, thoughts and images desiring to spring forth and make it's self known. Consider it a natural talent amongst the others the Dark Gift has bestowed upon me, that has strengthened as I have gone along. Our entire existences hinge on the Brotherhood's love... while many others are like this as well, there are Brothers and Sisters who have already achieved stability and purpose before they had even been given the offer. We have struggled immensely on burdens we did not deserve... but as time passed, the Night Mother watched our sheer will to continue our struggles and to survive... and in doing so, deemed us worthy of becoming her children, witnessing the darkness that exists in us. You might be young, as I am most certainly old... but there are few differences between us beyond that simple, irrelevant thing. You hold within yourself a great potential, the Mother see's it, Lucien see's it, and now _I_ have seen it as well. Now you shall see just what distance you go inside this family... but regardless of _how_ far this is... you are one of us now and forevermore... and I welcome it, I welcome _you_, as I shall the next brother or sister".

A silence filled Ocheeva's quarters so very much dead as a crypt, in which Antoinetta considered the Vampire's wise words... truly without a doubt any longer that he was as intelligent and well spoken as the Speaker himself. She released a quiet breath, overwhelmed by the thoroughness of his explanation. Never in her life had she heard such genuine humanity behind something a simple as words... and in spite of everything she'd heard of his kind, it had all been proven flatly wrong... and any shades of unease disappeared altogether. Antoinetta shook her head, uttering a faint, impressed laugh.

"You... you aren't exactly what I expected from a Vampire", Antoinetta admitted simply, studying his smooth, unchanging face. "Not in the slightest. You have the manner of a gentleman combined with a teacher... I was expecting... well...".

"You were perhaps expecting razor blades doubling for fangs jettisoning from my mouth and an uncontrollable fury and savagery?", Vicente suggested with amusement, stroking beneath his chin unconsciously. "_That _is something I save for only certain victim's of my feedings and now and again for my contracts, provided only of course that I am in the mood to shed the cloak of my... civility, for an evening. I do not bring back such barbarous behaviour to the family I love, nor to my home life, rest assured. I cannot fault you for such an expectation, if that's what you were worrying about. Much of today's knowledge of Vampirism stems from either gossip, fabled lore, stories of old... or even the fiction of today. There are so many misconceptions in regards to Vampires that it is becoming more and more difficult to narrow down each one."

"What do you mean?', Antoinetta asked at once, instantly curious. "Misconceptions?"

"Well now, which would be the best example? Some believe we fly and turn invisible, others believe we can turn into smoke so as to pass through keyholes... while some believe we can do all three", Vicente provided in turn, clearly enjoying himself as he spoke of it. "These misconceptions of what we are like does not merely focus on our strengths, however. Some speak of silver that can be used to dispose of it, others speak of wooden stakes being taken to organs that were vital in life. You see what I am saying? Each individual seems to have their own ideas in regards to the makeup of a Vampire, whether it's wrong or not. Ultimately, every conception of a Vampire could be considered inaccurate, for the truth is, there is not one singular bloodline amongst us."

"You mean that each bloodline has different... traits, so to say?", Antoinetta enquired with fascination, the idea taking a clear hold of her. Vicente smiled at her quickness and delved on in the topic he loved.

"Precisely. To say nothing of a preset manner of thinking each had before the change even has been undertaken. There are simply too many variables that must first be taken into account. One Vampire might be naturally hideous, mutated even in appearance, having little overall resemblance to a man, and have an affinity for plague bearing rats... I am most certainly _not_ one of _that_ kind, I should hope very much. One following a bloodline in this pattern of grotesqueness may possess not merely scarlet red eyes that are otherwise normal to those of mortals, but undisguisable _glowing_ red eyes, similar to those you saw on Shadowmere. Another Vampire, one of my bloodline, that is to say one of the three most prevalent in Morrowind, for example, takes on the appearance, for the most part, of the mortal man or woman we once were, save the obvious changes in our eyes and skin tone. Feeding must also be taken into account however, for it is capable of restoring the illusion of true humanity to some for a time in between thirsts. The longer we go without feedings, the more apparent our nocturnal nature becomes. Stability and sanity, _mindset _that is to say, can be effected across the bloodlines as well."

"Some unfortunates become rabid and mindless upon creation, and exist only to feed, lacking not only sophistication, refinement and charisma, but the sanity to even attempt to project this. I have had to kill many Vampires like this, remnants, who do not even differentiate other Vampires from their mortal victims, and attack solely on an instinct. Yet there are the sane ones, of course, the ones who have never felt the desire to end their existence... those perfect even in mortality to be what they are now. Those with the stamina to endure the changes of the century's and society, to keep up with the passage of time. I have striven to be one of those, against much difficulty... but I believe I have achieved it. There are only, in the end, three constants to every single Vampire, Antoinetta: our immortality, our _need_ for blood, and our weakness to sunlight. I know of hardy vampires to the north in Skyrim who are only weakened internally by the sun, and do not outright burst into flames at the touch of it's light as one like I would. Even our weakness to the sun or desire and need to drink blood has been twisted by some modern authors. One author writes their passionate vision of us bursting into flames at the rays of the sun and that we prefer the blood of sentient beings, another writes quite erroneously, to turn a profit if for nothing else, that we sparkle like mystical fairies in the light, unharmed by it, and drink from animals exclusively... _vegetarians _if you will. It is rather easy to tell at least which of the two writers did slightly more research into the matter then the other, I am certain."

Antoinetta uttered another laugh at this sentiment, and Vicente chuckled to himself delightedly in turn.

"Really, even Werewolves suffer from not only the same bigotries Vampires receive, but the same misconceptions... it is as I told you, even with they: there are different bloodlines, and therefore different quality's to them... yet certain constants that exist to each. The so called 'supernatural' has long held something within the mortal mind that is unable to conceive even this simple explanation... and their imaginations get the better of them more often then not when it comes right down to it."

A thought had occurred to Antoinetta during these explanations, and it promptly turned into a question she voiced.

"What is the whole issue about Vampire children?", the young woman asked suddenly, now gripped by his insurmountable knowledge on the matter. "Why is there such a fascination about them? Are they really very different then adult vampires?"

"Ahh", Vicente smiled with pleasure, considering her subsequent question with relish. "You touch upon one of the newer phenomenons stirring in the minds of mortals."

"Then you know what the whole thing is about?", Antoinetta asked, eyes widening a little.

"I do indeed. A great many mortals and immortals are disturbed with the idea of an unchanging child, an ageing mind trapped within a body that cannot do so. I have witnessed immortal 'children' descend into madness and commit suicide over the issue, unable to reconcile this immense cruelty... particularly when, like me, they had no choice in the matter to begin with. You see, for the most part, when a child is given the Dark Gift, their weak incomplete form cannot readily accommodate the new Vampiric strengths that come with it. Some die outright during the transformation process, others survive and undoubtedly suffer, dependent perhaps on a mortal thrall or henchman of sorts, themselves likely seeking the Dark Gift, to go seek out victims and collect the required blood for them. These... lackeys, may receive what they have sought after in this manner, or they may simply find themselves coldly replaced by another poor soul when they have grown too old, their usefulness outlived. This is not to say Vampire's in a child's form are incapable of protecting themselves or finding their own blood when it is required. As time passes, their strength might increase to a greater degree... but more importantly, their form gives them a distinct advantage: the image of a seemingly innocent, benign child in need of help. Many mortals have been lured in this manner and fed upon in a way one such as I could not. There are many 'child' Vampires out there who have survived and thrived across the century's, however, and have, as time passed, reconciled themselves to their permanent situation, be it through an achieved purpose as I found such as the Dark Brotherhood, or grasping to their sanity through sheer force of will, a stamina that is to be more then appreciated. I will say this... fledglings, be they children or adult at the time of the transformation, are the most likely to destroy themselves physically or mentally, or be destroyed by others, while an older Vampire, if they have survived their first century, is more likely to find their place in the world and adapt to ever changing society through any of the means at their disposal."

Vicente paused, his scarlet eyes flickering slightly at Antoinetta's startled expression.

"As you can surely see by now, this whole thing is a matter that I hold close to my heart. I consider it something of a duty to collect the ever changing views on Vampires, and to compare them to the true knowledge I have learned forthright in my travels and lifetime.", Vicente explained after the pause gently. "I must apologize for the length in which I speak... I fear Gogron may be right in that particular sentiment at least, I spend a great deal of time with contemplating these things. I should not wish to put you off with my manner, my lapses into introspection".

"No no, not at all", Antoinetta started quickly, shaking her head to dissuade his thought. "I don't think I've ever heard so much knowledge all at once... I can read... but I never, well... went to school... but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate what you're saying here. You could teach classes on all this to society if you wanted to. Have you ever... considered writing a book about the whole thing? About your life or something?"

Vicente thought of this idea for a moment, and uttered another chuckle, though far from a disapproving or sarcastic one.

"Well, considering my permanent occupation as an Executioner of the Night Mother's enemies, it would be a betrayal of the Brotherhood's secrets to publish something in regards to myself, most unfortunately", The Vampire replied after a moment or two, but nevertheless addressed the thought further. "Of course I could do it under a pseudonym and alter certain things... perhaps in the form of an article story or even an interview... but it simply would not be proper. I cannot tell a lie about any of the things I have encountered, nor alter in writing the life I have lived. I would rather not do it at all then do something like this. I admit, I have actually considered the idea of writing now and again with each passing decade... but in truth, it is not merely my unwavering commitment to Sithis and the Tenets that keeps me from doing as much".

"What do you mean?", Antoinetta asked as Vicente rose from his seat at the bed and moved back over to the chair, beginning to close up his kit bag, but nevertheless remaining attentive to her.

"I must confess... I rather enjoy Vampire literature, even with all it's amusing flaws in logic or common sense here or there", Vicente admitted to her with, for the first time since he arrived, a hint of embarrassment, but not entirely regretfully so. "It is something unique to be able to absorb all these different interpretations from the perspectives of different visions and ideas that spring forth over the century's in regards to us, while simultaneously holding the truth. I have long held a great respect for interpretation... for the vividness of imagination. I would not wish to risk an instability of this, should I publish my own accounts of what has transpired in the course of my life. Vampires, by nature, are for the most part secretive, Antoinetta... and while I could break this cycle with ease, I do not truly wish to do so... for I _like_ things as they are now. I _love _the debates, the energetic passions that stir within mortals in something as simple as disagreements... and by and large, that which is perceived as the supernatural is one of the largest sources of life for this. Let them argue about how one becomes like us, drinking from our immortal blood at the precipice of death or surviving the contagious bite alone being sufficient enough to pass on our condition. Let them debate our outward and inward strengths and weaknesses... let them debate how best we should be interpreted, from vicious monsters to passionate humanistic and flawed beings to outright whiners... for when it comes down to it, our existence and personality's are as varied as each of these depictions... therefore, in some ways, most of the writers out there each have it as right as they have it wrong. It is not for me to purposefully discourage the views of mortals... for I'd rather they glimpse us and decide for themselves _what _we actually are. Perhaps one day I may write a journal of my past life and present... regardless of my not being allowed to publish it... I could send it to the other Family's when it comes down to it if I wish to... and I am truly tempted. There is something about having it all laying before me, inked into pages and nearly as everlasting as the Void".

Vicente finished closing up the clasps of his Kit Bag, and he allowed the young mortal woman more time to absorb his innermost thoughts he had passed along. Given her state, it was likely to take some time for them all to settle... but even now, he could sense her dawning understanding of what he was getting at, and was entirely pleased to have produced such an effect.

"I, like our Mother, appreciate an attentive listener, dear child", He spoke again at last, settling back down into his seat, hands intertwining as he watched her comfortably. "I must thank you in this regard... there are not many here who care to hear my introspective mindset as you do... as I have already said, the search for knowledge is rather special to me."

"It's the least I could do Vicente, all things considered", Antoinetta replied, motioning to one of the ointment covered wounds on her arm. The yellow paste was beginning to settle in comfortably. "I'm the one who needs to thank you".

"Not at all my fellow Breton", Vicente reassured her modestly with a wave of his own pale hand. "It is simply my duty... and my own pleasure to do so. Now do lay back and relax... I am more then certain Gogron will be done with his cooking by now... Mraaj Dar was right, it takes time to burn everything to a blackened husk".

Antoinetta smiled again, and did as he bid, pulling the blankets more tightly about her, and breathing so lightly it did not break the comfortable silence. By now, the breaths she drew were no longer agonizing, and while the faintly sickening feeling remained from the muddy potion, even this was welcome. The potency of the red potion continued to swirl about her, mixing with the second potion and taking away her fatigue, if only for the moment, as it's effect was gradually declining over time. It had been far to long since she last slept... but it was her hunger that was the more powerful of the two bodily needs, and so, she remained awake.

Sure enough, Vicente was proven correct in his belief, when at last an unmistakable massive figure blocked the doorway following the loud echoes of his armoured boots approaching the quarters. The first thing Antoinetta glimpsed was two great metal trays entering that looked as though they could double as doors, and her eyes widened with shock. Steam rose from the dishes on either tray, aroma's filtering through the air. One tray held an assortment of darkened, yet not quite burnt, dishes of meats and potatoes, while the other held different plates full of more colourful foods including vegetables, grains and fruits. There was little doubt who had prepared the food on either tray. From over the tray's, Gogron's smooth green face, alongside it's seemingly permanently grinning face, beamed at the surprise he had given the young woman, ignoring Vicente's amused look as he stopped beside the bed and chair.

"Here ya are Little Sister!", His jolly voice boomed about the room as he grinned down at her. She smiled back gratefully at once, and caught sight of a massive tankard of water standing out amongst the dishes. "Hot n' ready to eat! Sorry it took awhile, had to put up with M'raaj Dar's rantings... slowed me down."

"Was it that, dear brother, or was it your emptying of the the entire pantry's contents?", Vicente's sophisticated voice put in from the sidelines, stroking his lips bemusedly, causing the Orc to flush with a hard scowl. "That would certainly slow one down. Do you truly think she will be able to eat all this?"

"I didn't take everything!", Gogron insisted at once, passing off the tray which held Vicente's dishes to it's Vampire creator. "There's plenty left. I just figured the Little Sister here ought get a chance to decide between our foods... that said, she tries mine first... I'm the one who did the cookin!"

"Is that what you like to call your blundering about the kitchen and hoping for the best?", Vicente smirked, glancing between the tray of dishes across his lap, it's many assortments of food, and the simplistic one the Orc lay across the now upright Antoinetta, who examined it still with wide eyes. Gogron moved back to Vicente's side, folding his plate covered arms over his chest. "Really?"

"Not all food needs to be complicated. You're just jealous old man", Gogron replied with his mock annoyance, suddenly motioning back towards Antoinetta, who was delicately searching for a fork amongst the plates, to little success. "Oh yeah, use your hands Little Sister... no point in being fancy, just dig right in! That's a girl! Dunno how many time's I've told Telaendril, there's nothin better then a woman who knows how to eat! Too many skinny ones runnin around these days, gotta learn to put on some pounds! Like those Nord women! You know what I'm talkin about Vicente... now they have some hardy hips on em up north! Don't get me wrong, the other races have their own thing going for em, but those girls know the score!".

Gogron released an unapologetic lustful growl, and, nudging the Breton Vampire in the shoulder knowingly, burst into laughter, causing Vicente to wrinkle his nose with clear distaste at his crude, Orc manner, his scarlet eyes apologizing silently to the startled Antoinetta.

"You always have and always shall be a true barbarian at heart, Gogron. Sithis help you.", Vicente sighed with exasperation, shaking his head and rubbing his face tiredly. "You need to learn to treat women with more regard, brother... they deserve respect, not merely to be the object of your wanton and unrepentant lustful manner. The manners I could teach you with enough time... but then again, even I have my doubts about succeeding in that endeavour within your lifetime".

"_Nord Women_, old man", Gogron repeated slowly as if speaking to a child, grinning boorishly down at the elder, his armoured hands motioning excitedly before clutching the elder's shoulder and squeezing firmly. "Got dust in your ears or something? What part of that didn't you hear? Especially the stories they tell about those werewolf ones... heh heh... _you _probably met a few of em out there in three century's, huh?"

Vicente did not provide the answer to this, instead, he scowled disapprovingly before forming his rebuttal, which in turn, provoked a debate regarding the ethics of how to treat women between the two, with Antoinetta looking on rather nervously. Ultimately deciding to leave them to their sudden bickering, Antoinetta, with a shy smile of sorts, gingerly reached for a giant chicken leg soaked in gravy in the centerfold's plate, and she brought it forward, examining it carefully. It was quite dark, but did not look altogether unpleasant She took a tiny bite from it and chewed, considering the taste, most of which came from the gravy that covered many of the plates. It was a bit dry and coarse as well as quite salty... and most definitely had been cooked too long, but when it came right down to it, who was she to judge either of their foods? She who had not eaten anything in days... and to be now laying in a comfortable bed surrounded by a mountain of nourishment, her hunger swelled, rearing it's head, and became ravenous. She devoured the chicken leg in no time at all, scarcely savouring it, her face being stained in gravy as it dribbled down on to the tray, and had drunk from the tankard of water and was reaching for a plate full of nearly burnt, crisp potatoes and mutton when Gogron at last took notice of her, and laughed again with approval, shaking off his argument with Vicente.

"_That's_ it!", Gogron nearly shouted, clapping his gloves together with a clatter and laughing loud, and Vicente's eyes flickered up to follow the source of his approval, watching the thin, nervous young woman beginning to pick up a handful of potato and consume it along with the mutton, chewing furiously. "See what I mean old man? Better to keep eating simple... hands, _those _are the utensils you kill with and eat with! That's how my ancestors did it in the old days, worked for them pretty damn well, works for me too. Warrior's don't need table manners to live in the world we built... and this girl has some tough fighting spirit in her! You wait and see!".

Vicente shook his head again tiredly, but for Antoinetta's sake alone, who blushed at Gogron redirecting the focus to her messy eating, spoke no more about it for a time, instead smiling kindly at the young woman's vigorous eating, and soon fell back into conversation with Gogron.

Antoinetta finished of an entire plate of Mutton and potato's, and was going to reach for another, when her eyes moved back to the tray across Vicente's lap, with it's numerous colourful exquisite dishes. It was upon glimpsing this again that she lowered the second plate back down on the tray, and spoke again shyly.

"I'd like to try some of your food too, Vicente", She told him, gesturing to the tray as, with her other hand, she started to wipe the mess of food from her lips with sudden embarrassment At this, Vicente's smile deepened, and he broke off from his conversation with Gogron before rising to his feet with the tray. "That way I can try to decide the winner... and uh, I'd like to use a fork this time around if it's no trouble. I'm stained enough as it is".

"There you have it Gogron", Vicente spoke silkily, as the Orc reluctantly took his own tray from an apologetic Antoinetta's lap and moved back to the chair the Vampire had vacated before settling in it himself. Vicente lay the new tray across her as Gogron had done, but, seeing her shyness at the gravy stains caked around her thin mouth, he reached again for the cloth resting in the warm bucket of water, squeezing it out and passing it off to her. She smiled gratefully and took it before cleaning her face again, to Vicente's evident approval. Vicente found a fork and knife amongst the plates and handed them to her once she had finished, and took back the cloth. "She is not the messy child you would try to have her be, like yourself... she has a natural refinement and manners as you shall never have them."

"She's just being polite to your feelings old man! Aren't you Little Sister?", Gogron insisted loudly, waving a hand dismissively at the smirking Vampire who moved back to his side. He glanced beseechingly in a flustered Antoinetta's direction, waiting for an answer. She racked her brain for a polite answer, but never had the chance to form it.

"Well... you see-

"See what I mean?", Gogron cut her off abruptly without waiting for reply, and grinning at Vicente as though this were proof of his point. Antoinetta picked up the fork and reached for a plate of salad, covered in a kind of cream-like dressing, and focused her gradually dissipating hunger upon it while Vicente stared pointedly at his Orc brother. "You just can't take no for an answer when it comes to your dishes... always think it's important to use a hundred different ingredients to hide the bad taste of your cooking and hours to make a single meal!"

"As opposed to you submerging your burnt monstrosity in gravy in the hopes of disguising the dry tastelessness of them?", Vicente suggested smoothly, earning a hard, this time perhaps genuine scowl from the Orc, whose gauntlets clenched, thick brows furrowing together. "I believe we should simply allow Antoinetta to be the judge of both... for I can see we'll never break this debate any other way... hmm?"

Gogron grunted, huffing with reluctant agreement, pouting almost like a child, and grew silent, allowing the young woman to do so, to Vicente's satisfaction, who also looked on as Antoinetta glanced between them and the dish, feeling as though she were trapped in a beam of light, and nearly blushed again. Instead, she focused her attention to the salad, and raised her fork, spearing a few of the lettuce leaves and tomatoes before eating them as well, considering the taste. She glanced up to Vicente, who smiled hopefully, and she returned a tiny, polite one. Gogron had had a small point at least... Antoinetta's senses were overwhelmed and nearly buried beneath an avalanche of flavors the dressing induced... not all of them so pleasant. Some of them were bitter, while others were sweet, to her surprise, and it took her a moment to process them and adapt herself. Nevertheless, as she had with Gogron's meals, she dug right in, never minding the unusual tastes, simply consuming a whole plate of leafy salad in no time at all. When she was done two plates, a salad and a rice dish, and a bowl of grapes, she leaned back against the pillow, lowering her utensils back down to the tray. Her hunger had, for the most part, been waned by Gogron's messy meal, but nevertheless, Vicente's had been just as satisfying to her stomach, which began to rumble it's contentedness silently, her hunger abated She could feel the effects of her morning supper already, in the form of a sluggishness within her. It had been so very long since she had felt in this manner... she had nearly forgotten what it felt like, to not have her stomach screaming simultaneously with pain and moaning with hunger. There was no mistaking that her tiredness was beginning to take it's hold ever more steadily in the wake of the nourishment, but nonetheless, she remained awake, and Gogron was, naturally the first to address her, his jolly booming voice doing wonders with keeping her so.

"Well, Little Sister?", he asked hopefully, rubbing his gauntlets together with impatience, eyes scarcely blinking, his excitement palpable as opposed to the far more subdued Vicente who drew amusement from his compatriot's manner, yet himself interested in Antoinetta's verdict. "The right choice is pretty obvious, huh? I mean... meat and gravy, or salad with Vampire Dust and other alchemy ingredients sprinkled on it?"

Antoinetta could not resist a slight smile as Gogron smirked at the Vampire sideways, his large eyes glittering delightedly. Vicente in turn glared at the Orc, but otherwise managed to ignore him, and a moment later, both of them had turned back to the young woman, awaiting her answer. Antoinetta shifted with shy unease at being put on the spot, uncertain which to choose, not wanting to make either of them feel bad after all the kindness they had heaped upon her. Ultimately, she chose the wise way out, and smiled to each of them.

"I like them both", She said appreciatively, and hurried on at the disappointed look she received from Gogron, who had clearly wanted a proper decision. "I mean, they go really well together... you don't need to fight over it".

"You see Gogron?", Vicente addressed the Orc suddenly, who focused intently on his tray of meats, avoiding his scarlet eyes filled with triumph. "There is no point in fighting... I can see it, she can see it, why can't you? All you have to do is stop making your meals, and leave the kitchen work to myself from here on... it's really as simple as that".

Gogron's eyes shot up to the self assured Vampire, immediately incensed at his silky words and smile, and Antoinetta, on the sidelines, nearly laughed, but stifled it, resisting the urge to roll her eyes as well.

"Now you wait a minute old man!", Gogron huffed loudly, rising to his feet with the tray in his hands. He towered over the elegant mannered Vampire, who was not cowed in the slightest, continuing to look quite benign. Another big debate looked as though it would break out at once, unless something was done about it. "That's not what she was getting at! If you think I'm gonna let you conquer the kitchen and poison us nightly, you have another thing-

"Really Gogron, it is much too early in the morning to maintain this 'discussion'. I suggest we continue it after we all get some much required rest", Vicente interrupted abruptly, causing the Orc to glare a final time. The Vampire motioned to the newest member of the family, who looked on with a tired smile. "I should think we have taken enough rest away from the dear child as it were with our arguing. There is no point in having her in the centre of it... she'll be as annoyed with us as M'raaj Dar is soon enough. You may as well return the trays to the Living Quarters and go to sleep".

Gogron considered it briefly as Vicente took the tray across Antoinetta's lap, and uttered a playfully jolly laugh, dropping his facade of anger and shrugged his armoured shoulders, glancing apologetically at the young woman.

"I guess I can do that for the Little Sister... gotta get all the rest she can, to say nothing of me", The Orc replied with his kindest voice, and he took the second tray Vicente passed over to him, holding each with all it's plates and foods effortlessly in either hand. His eyes shot back to the Vampire again in mock loathing. "But this isn't over old man".

"I've long given up on that ever happening", Vicente sighed bemusedly as he stood beside the bed. "Yet for her sake, we should at least endeavour to make the effort... today at least, considering what she has gone through".

"Yeah yeah... I'm going, I'm going", Gogron muttered to him, grinning again in Antoinetta's direction, showing no sign of exhaustion for all his lack of sleep. He was as energetic as he had been from the moment she entered the Sanctuary. "Good night Little Sister, be sure to sleep in, don't let Vicente's snores wake you from down the corridor... if they do, go put a wooden stake in him or something."

"Gogron, you know full well I am incapable of snoring", Vicente spoke quickly, raising an eyebrow suddenly. "Teinaava or yourself, on the other hand..."

Antoinetta nevertheless laughed quietly at Gogron's suggestion, exchanging a glance with the Vampire she had discussed the matter with, and smiled warmly up at the far warmer Orc.

"I'll take that under advisement... so long as it does not break the Tenets... and if I can find a block of wood.", Antoinetta replied kindly, and Vicente took on a look of false offence, earning another laugh from Gogron. "Good night to you, and thank you very much for the food, it was very... filling.".

Gogron was clearly resisting the urge to gloat this compliment in Vicente's face, but he managed to keep it in the form of a gloating look.

"Anytime Little Sister, you wait til breakfast!", He said excitedly, clearly already considering what to make... the end result likely to be obvious. He backed up slightly, making for the door, but still speaking from it. "If you think my dinners are great, which everyone does, my breakfast is something else. Don't bother getting up, I'll bring something up here for ya. Dream of broken, battered enemies and a sea of red at your feet!".

With one final smirking look at the Vampire, Gogron left through the doors and went out into the corridor, leaving the quarters behind for his own. His shuffling almost blundering bootfalls fell silent quickly, and soon, he was gone. Vicente shook his head to himself, and moved closer to the bedside, scarlet eyes twinkling.

"I'll be sure to get up sooner then he, so you aren't stuck with another plate of meat for breakfast.", The Vampire promised her assuredly, earning another laugh from her. "It doesn't make the greatest of foods upon waking..."

"Thank you", Antoinetta spoke with warm gratitude, not just for this gesture, but the others she addressed. "Thanks for everything... the potions, gross as they were, and the talk and food."

"Think nothing of it dear child. Ocheeva has just departed from the Living Quarters and is now on her way here as we speak", Vicente informed her rather non nonchalantly, as if announcing the state of the weather, and again surprising Antoinetta. He elaborated a little upon his preternatural knowledge. "Another of my talents, dear girl. I tend to know the movements around me, even when I cannot see them. In any event, I wished to thank you for the talk... it has been far too long since last I could speak of myself, my travels and Vampiric nature to an inquisitive child. Should you find it desirable, we will have to speak of them again when you have recovered. I can give you my life's story with perfect recollection. Oh yes, and you will be able to ask as many questions about our dear Speaker as you wish... an adequate incentive I'm sure to do so."

Antoinetta flushed crimson at his rather knowing, ancient look and the iridescent smile crossing his thin lips.

"I'd like that a lot", she admitted quickly, forcing back her shyness, and smiling back at him. The idea of hearing more about the Speaker took a hold of her, as powerful as her dawning fatigue... but she was forced to forgo the former of the two, if only for a time. "I want to hear more about your life... and, well, you know".

"I _know _quite well", Vicente agreed swiftly, and paused for a moment to let her collect herself before continuing. "Before I depart, I must give my apologies for Gogron's and, I suppose I must admit, my own child-like behaviour.. for all the years I have lived, there are time's even I cannot resist the temptation to argue with-

"You two have _never _resisted the temptation to do so, as far back as I can remember, Vicente", A raspy, amused voice came from the doorway, and Antoinetta's attention flickered towards it to find the motherly Argonian woman who owned the quarters, Ocheeva, had approached soundlessly, and was watching the scene with her own scarlet yet reptilian, slit-like eyes. She was still clad in her dark, full body suit, yet her gloved hands were no longer empty. One hand was on her slender hip, while in the other she held a large, bulging tan cloth bag down at her side, it's top tied up with string. Vicente too turned back in her direction, but with no surprise, having already known quite well of her presence. Ocheeva entered the room, herself moving to Antoinetta's bedside, eyes flickering between the Vampire and the recovering girl.

"Have you two been bothering her with your cooking arguments? Really, that is quite enough to make the poor child even sicker then she already is".

"It's not a problem", Antoinetta's whispish, accented voice replied quickly before Vicente could speak. "I didn't mind at all... actually, I thought it was rather funny".

"Believe me, the novelty will wear thin inevitably, and it will grow irritating soon enough", Ocheeva assured her with a smile, again revealing a sea of tiny, razor sharp teeth. "We mainly try to tune it out... but to little success unfortunately How are you feeling now? The potions are not so pleasant to take, aren't they?"

"No, not really", The girl agreed with a slight grimace as she recalled the strength of the potion with reluctance. The Argonian set aside the bundle she had brought, and leaned down over the bed, taking one of Antoinetta's slender arm's and examining the spots of yellow ointment that had been applied to her cuts. "I wasn't sure anything in the world could taste like that... but now I'm just more tired then anything else".

"That is to be expected... you will be able to rest soon. Will she be alright, Vicente?", Ocheeva asked, moving her gloved yet surprisingly gentle hand to Antoinetta's bruised face, careful not to touch any of the healing wounds. Her warm, roughened hand was the exact opposite in feeling as Vicente's smooth cold one, but every bit as caring in intent. The mistress moved her hand up to Antoinetta's clammy forehead, feeling for a temperature. From her side, Vicente answered most confidently.

"I'm more then certain she will... a child of her strength. The potions have done wonders for her, and the food will help just as much.", Vicente informed her, his hands intertwining behind his back, and he stood to his fullest height. "I'm sure she'll be up and about the Sanctuary in no time, once the recovery process has set in, and her body and mind adjust to it. If anything further is needed of me, just let me know at once. For now, clearly, she requires sleep, just as I wish to do so. If it is not a problem, I believe I shall take my leave now and return to my slumber.".

"Of course Vicente, thank you for your understanding", Ocheeva replied gratefully, relinquishing her hand from the girl's head, and at this answer, Vicente began to gather up his kit bag from the chair, adjusting several of the straps on it. "M'raaj Dar did not much look forward to waking you so suddenly. Lucien had to... convince him".

"I could tell", Vicente replied with calm amusement once he gathered up his things, and reached for the pail of now lukewarm water beside the bed, picking it too up. His grandfatherly eyes danced as they turned back to the equally pale young woman. "However, I think Antoinetta here frightened him this morning far more then I or Lucien, with her kind manners. I had him bring this bucket of water for her... you can imagine his feelings on that. I have little doubt he was expecting something other then a thank you from her after some of his more rude comments".

Ocheeva uttered a pleased, raspy laugh upon hearing this information, understanding at once, herself peering back at Antoinetta, who looked down at her own lap with a modest smile, hands fidgeting, lest she blush freely again.

"Ah! You went the opposite way with him", the Argonian continued to chuckle with delight alongside Vicente. "That is the best manner in which a so called 'outsider', can deal with him and his confrontational nature, as Vicente doubtlessly told you. I look forward to seeing how that unfolds already."

"I won't disappoint you Ocheeva", Antoinetta promised the Mistress of the Sanctuary, peering back up into her liquid-like slit pupils, smile remaining as it had so many times since she arrived She almost felt as though even the bruises would be overcome beneath the joy she felt before she even fell asleep.

"Excellent news, dear child... it should prove far more entertaining then arguments about food", Ocheeva replied with a deep breath, her chuckles subsiding as she returned her attention to Vicente, who was prepared to leave, but still quite enjoying himself enough not to do so until prompted. "You may head off Vicente, I'll be up for quite awhile, and I must speak with Antoinetta before she sleeps. We shall see you tonight before you head out for the evening."

"Of course, dearest Mistress", Vicente replied kindly, and, moving backwards until he had reached the doorway, offered up a final courteous bow in the direction of the two smiling women. "One of the advantages to Vampirism in my bloodline, Antoinetta... when you grow older as I have, sleep seems to become less important, and is more done for the purposes of mere relaxation or hibernation. Yet, as you do not possess the Dark Gift, you must be sure to savour your sleep in a way I cannot, and take as much of it as you need in your recovery. May you dream of the eternal Void to which all things go, child of Sithis, and the agonized deaths of those who have crossed you. Welcome again to our Family, and may the Night Mother always watch over you".

"Thank you for everything, Vicente", Antoinetta beamed glowingly, warmed by his welcome. "Dream well... uh, if Vampire's dream...-

"Thankfully so", Vicente answered her at once, raising a hand to bid them each farewell. "And quite vividly, to be sure. Dreams are as important as the real world, for it is from these we can draw inspirations and comfort from, like water from a well, just as we can each one another."

With these final words of wisdom, the darkly clothed, gentlemanly mannered Vampire too left the quarters and moved into the hall, though passing silently into the left side of the corridor, bound not for the Living Quarters, but his own private one below. When he too was gone, Ocheeva returned her kindly gaze to the happy Antoinetta.

"That's Vicente for you... as elegant in manner as he is cruel to his enemies", The Argonian Mistress rasped with another chuckle, sitting at the edge of the bed and patting Antoinetta on the hand. "I see you two spoke of his Vampirism... I hope it didn't come as too much of a shock... it certainly did me the first time _I _met him. Really, he behaves more like an old gentleman then a Vampire".

"I can't say I was expecting it either", Antoinetta admitted after a moments consideration. "But no, he wasn't the way I thought a Vampire was supposed to be... I can see there's a lot I don't understand about the world... this world of darkness you all dwell in. Though, being in this family, I suppose I better get used to the unexpected."

"Precisely", Ocheeva agreed at once, pleased with her quick understanding. "It will come to you, do not simply force yourself to adapt. Take in the sights and experiences of this place, and what the Night Mother sees in you shall come to steady fruition."

"I will", Antoinetta promised assuredly, breathing quietly.

"On another note, I must apologize for taking time away in which you could be sleeping, but there was one final matter I wished to show you", Ocheeva began again, reaching down to the floor and retrieving the large bundle she had brought in with her. Her gloved hands began to undo the fastenings around the top with lightning quick ease. "All who join the family are given a gift, an enchanted set of armour of sorts to wear at your leisure... and you are no exception to this rule. I noticed how tattered your dress was, and it was my hope you would find this outfit quite agreeable to you."

Ocheeva finished unfastening the bag, and as she started to unveil the contents within, the muted Antoinetta's heart began to quicken with a thrill of excitement at the idea of discarding her filthy rags, that only multiplied the moment her eyes rested upon it. From within the bag, Ocheeva produced a folded, dark full bodysuit, exactly like the one she was wearing, that was covered in straps, zippers and buckles and complete with already connected gloves and boots. The Mistress handed it off to Antoinetta's hands, and reached down deeper in the bag for something else, smiling at Antoinetta's surprise as she did so. Antoinetta caressed the material slowly, and there was something more to it then the sort of usual, roughened leather feel. Passing her fingers over a dark purple section on it's chest, she could feel the enchanted energy of the suit tingling curiously against her finger tips, and she looked back to Ocheeva wide eyed, hugging the armour tightly against herself.

"It is very light to the touch, as you can see, and quite comfortable", Ocheeva informed her, bringing out the second thing she had to show her. In both hands, the Mistress held a matching black hood with some connectors and zippers at it's base, passing this too off to the awe stricken young woman. She watched delightedly Antoinetta turn it over, examining it with avid fascination. "It will take some time getting used to, and even longer to zip yourself in to, but I can help you with that until you get the hang of it, as you will rather quickly. It also comes with this optional hood, it's self also enchanted with the same magic, and can be utilized not only to further your defences, but to help disguise your identity in a particular contract that requires it. The choice is entirely up to you of course... some Brothers and Sisters prefer it worn at all time's, others little at all."

Antoinetta could scarcely form words as she clutched the shrouded armour to herself, completely overwhelmed by the intent behind the gift, ultimately, she could only release a breathless 'thank you'. She felt on the very verge again of breaking out into tears of joy. She'd never been given such a wonderful outfit... particularly one not only imbued with magic, but that would give her a kind of belonging with the others her filthy dress could not. Then there was the motivating factor behind such a gift that was unique to her as well. The fact that, like Lucien, Gogron and Vicente, Ocheeva had given this gift to her out of genuine care and love, wanting her to feel right at home within the Sanctuary. Her face was bathed in the warmth of delight, and she breathed quietly, relaxingly, and she continued to examine her new outfit more carefully.

"You don't have to thank me, dear child... it is one of the constant's for another joining us, as it always has been. A gift from Sithis, not I, Ocheeva replied with a kind smile. She continued to watch Antoinetta gazing avidly at the full body suit... and something deep in her eyes flickered, becoming not only distant, but mournful and possessing of regret. "They used to belong to Maria, another dear child of His who lived in this Sanctuary not too long ago. Thankfully she was about your size, so it should be at least an adequate fit, I believe. That said, it is also not only somewhat new, but in remarkable condition. While some of us used to forget here or there to keep our armour and weapons in prime condition, she would frequently remind them to do so, always the one being careful to keep her things repaired and as perfect as possible at all times. That was one of the wonderfully meticulous ways in which she operated about the Sanctuary... a manner that effected each of us. She possessed not only a happy, child-like spirit... but always a mind so well prepared for things in whichever form they took. I can easily tell you that were it not for her constant reminders, Gogron's weapons probably would have fallen apart by themselves before he'd notice".

Antoinetta's wide eyed gaze shot up from the armour and to Ocheeva, her curiosity arisen at the hint of deepened sorrow lining the edges of her voice and the Mistress's use of past tense. Ocheeva peered back at her simply, her saddened smile remaining at the memory, and she released a faint, raspy laugh that too, like her scarlet, liquid-like eyes, held a level of regret.

"Where is she now?", Antoinetta asked hesitantly, not breaking eye contact, her fingers moving to the armour's shoulder pad and unconsciously tracing the black hand symbol imprinted there.

"That is something each of us here would like to know... and something we haven't learned of yet", Ocheeva answered quietly, with a slight shake of her head as she elaborated further.

"She disappeared months ago following a completed contract, you see. On the evening in which we waited for her, the evening she was supposed to return, she didn't arrive at the Sanctuary... nor the days following, and given some of the more unsettling stories stirring through the Cyrodill Brotherhood as of late, it is at this point more then likely that she was murdered as she travelled, and now kneels before Sithis. Dear Lucien searched for her personally for a very long time, but even he was unable to turn up a single trace of her whereabouts. This Sanctuary, it's occupants at the time, each received a great deal of pain following her sudden disappearance.. as we are all so very close... and I believe, only now, that we, or at least some of us, have begun to mend our deepened wounds. Others... it's not so easy. We are changed... as is invariably inevitable when it comes down to it. The loss of even a single Dark Brother or Sister is felt throughout the Brotherhood... and most of all, within the home from which he or she originated. Each of us brings something special to our familys, and it is this collectiveness and symbiotic nature that makes us complete. When one of us is taken away, we are no longer whole as we were, even knowing those departed now serve in the paradise that is the Void, a reward Maria deserved... but not like this. Not so soon when she still had so much more to give. As such, she has left behind not only her things, her armour she hadn't brought along, and bed... but her memories, each of which as dear to us as the last".

"I'm sorry, Ocheeva", Antoinetta murmured apologetically after a moment's disquieting silence, turning her head suddenly, and looking down at her lap, at the hood in her hands, overcome with shame. She felt it at once, the feeling of being an interloper, an intruder, upon grief and times she had not been apart of. An outsider. Certain things now made sense to her, clutching this armour to her chest that had once been another's. She feared herself to be a replacement, and Ocheeva understood this at once, but listened before allaying her unwarranted fears. "I didn't mean to come here and interfere with anything to do with this Family. I can't... can't replace this girl in the slightest. I don't have the capability of even trying, nor do I wish to. I saw the way that Khajiit, M'raaj Dar, was looking at me... as though I don't belong, as if my very presence is despicable and unwarranted... as if I have no place in this home. I think I understand _why_ now... and I'm sorry for any poor effect my being here causes to any of you. I just... I _want_ to be here... I _can't_... go back to... to _that_..."

"And you never shall have to. You are not her replacement, dear child. You are family", Ocheeva spoke reassuringly, her hand rising up again and moving out to the young woman's bruised cheek, bringing her gaze back to her own tenderly. Her raspy, saddened voice had changed abruptly, holding within it a sort of purposeful, implicit nature that she had heard very similarly in her Speaker's tone. There was a sense of duty, of care, and love stirring within it.

"You have no cause for giving apologies. You are your own unique and beautiful individual Sithis has mercifully saw fit to bless us with, in light of our loss. You are _not _Maria, nor her reflection or copy, but a new part of us, a new arrival, as she herself was, and as we all have been at one time. We all have to start somewhere. You saw Vicente, you even spoke of his Vampirism, and I could see the life resonating through him in the wake of meeting you... and you saw Gogron's... um, joy with your arrival. That, I assure you, is the majority consensus with your presence here. Your perspectives and thoughts will integrate into us, and we will grow stronger and persevere through our pain. Maria will never be forgotten any more then she could be replaced... that is an insurmountable fact, and an important one to hold on to... but the Maria I knew and loved would not wish for us each to be clouded by fear, hatred and sorrow forever. She would want us to thrive, and to live on, as we did when she was amongst us. That was simply who she was. Mraaj Dar, I believe, has forgotten this memory of her in the midst of his own suffering, has forgotten that he too has been new. He is, ultimately, the most independent of all of us, and therefore, possesses strengths we do not have, and weaknesses we do not have. He is an isolated, lonely being who has long had difficulty adjusting to any kind of changes... he clutches tightly on the way things are, but we as a family have been steadily chipping away at this barrier his lifetime has drawn up protectively around his heart."

"Make _no_ mistake... he loves us, but voicing this love is an entirely separate matter altogether. I believe strongly that he will adapt to your presence... for he did precisely the same thing with Maria, and each of the others who have come after him. Yet, he must do so at his own pace, and upon his own terms. He is bitter and pained right now, but he will come to respect you the longer you remain, and the more you speak to him, not cowering under his unwarranted rudeness. I must warn you, however... I believe, that in _his _mind, he thinks you do not deserve to wear that armour, in light of your sickness, and the circumstances surrounding your arrival. You see, normally, a further murder is required to gain admittance to the Brotherhood... but the Night Mother has made an exception of you, seeing something very special in your presence here. Time, Antoinetta, time will prove his fears to be entirely unfounded... and as far as murders go, you mustn't be brash and rush yourself into carrying out your first contact... I can see how desperately you wish to prove yourself... but you do not need to. Do not lose sleep contemplating this. It will all come to you... trust me on that. It is not a matter that does to over think it".

A comfortable silence slipped over the quarters in which Antoinetta revelled in the Mistress's gentle words, and, grasping them, at last nodded. At this, Ocheeva's smile widened, and Antoinetta did the same. The Argonian removed her hand from the young woman's bruised, pretty face, and moved if back to her other. After a brief time, Antoinetta asked a question that had occurred to herself over the course of her brief time already spent here.

"How many of you _are_there here?", her quiet voice enquired, her wide eyes filled with the same clear curiosity. "How many others are there in this family?"

"_Eleven_ altogether, now that you have joined us", Ocheeva answered her, and she took on a sort of amused look. "_Nine _if you do not count our Dark Guardian and Rat... though Gogron might give you something of a hard time if you didn't count Schemer."

Antoinetta had to laugh at this, and the name the Orc had selected.

"There is of course our dearest Speaker Lucien Lachance, our resident gentleman Vampire Vicente Valtieri, myself and my twin brother Teinaava, you can meet him soon enough, Lucien trained he and I when we were but children, Telaendril, a Wood Elf and our finest archer, she is out on an assignment at the moment... you'll like her, you've 'met' Mraaj Dar of course, he is not only our strongest mage, but a capable merchant, I'll have to tell him you will be allowed to buy things off him, then there is Gogron, hard to miss him blundering around the Sanctuary in all that armour.. and now there is you. We are something of a dysfunction yet functioning family, if you couldn't already tell".

"I bet", Antoinetta said with a smile, the names mulling about her mind. Only two of them she was yet to meet, but as Ocheeva had said, she soon would do as much.

"The Sanctuary it's self isn't massive, but it serves our purpose here perfectly. Other then my own and Vicente's private quarters, there is the main corridor, a Living Quarters where most of the others sleep and where we eat, where you will move in to at the proper time, as well as a Training Room, in which you will be able to hone your skills and develop your strength. I'll have Gogron give you the full tour soon enough. Now before I part, you should know a couple more details, if you would be so kind as to accommodate me. When the time comes for your contract, once you are ready, Vicente will be the one to give it to you. He handles the initials assignments given to newest initiates. It will be nothing too complex, as you will have to start out simply to ready yourself for our Parent's service. For some contracts you will receive, there will be two options. On one hand, you might simply murder the target... but on the other, that particular contract may hold the chance of a bonus."

"A bonus?", Antoinetta started, her eyes widening as her fatigued mind considered the nearly alien concept of payment, of having currency in her possession. At this Ocheeva released another low, delighted chuckle. "I'll be given my own... _gold_, for these murders? I get to kill... and be _payed_ for it... and _actually keep _it?".

"Indeed you shall. Every contract promises an amount for the assassin... but in fulfilling certain wishes of the one who took out the contract in the first place, you might be given a substantial bonus, perhaps in the form of extra gold or an item. These bonus's are optional, yet highly recommended for you to take. As the number of carried out contracts increases, as you take on more difficult ones and prove your deadliness with the blade, magic, bows... even your own hands, you will pass through the ranks over time, which are as follows: Murderer, Slayer, Eliminator, Assassin and Executioner. These are the earlier ranks not of the Black Hand. There are three ranks within the ruling body."

"And what are they?", Antoinetta asked quickly, her interest snared as it had been with everything else in this place, recalling some of the words spoken by Lucien. "This... Black Hand is the group Lucien Lachance belongs to, isn't it?"

"It most certainly is, dear child. Each rank in unique in it's self, and requires separate duties then merely the carrying out of contracts. The Black Hand is four Fingers and a Thumb... and each Finger has a separate Talon. Those resting on the Talons of said Fingers hold the rank of Silencer. These four remarkable individuals, one of which actually came from this very Sanctuary, exists to carry out the wishes of the Finger they belong to, as well as handling contracts of far more difficulty then those you shall receive here in this family. These Fingers the Silencers belong to, are the Speakers. You have met Lucien Lachance, so you have some understanding of his duties... but there are more. Lucien and the other three not only recruit new members for our cause, but arrange contracts and the details behind them... they may even choose to carry many of them out themselves. Furthermore, all four Speakers oversee a particular Sanctuary around Cyrodiil. There are more then four Sanctuary's in the province, of course, as there are many more across the entirety of Tamriel, but day to day operations within each Sanctuary are handled by others like myself, the Masters and Mistresses of each home. There is then, the final and most important rank of the Dark Brotherhood... one that only a single personally chosen individual at a time may possess. The Night Mother dictates the will of Sithis, and the Listener overhears it. The Listener of the Dark Brotherhood passes along Her words to the Speakers, who carry out the requests. The Night Mother hears the pleading of those who require the skills of her children, or those in need of Her love, as you were. It is this perfected system, bound by the Five Tenets that honour Sithis and his Unholy Matron, that has carried us forth since our humblest of beginnings, and has made us the mighty entity of the night that we are now."

"Who... is this Night Mother?", Antoinetta wondered with hesitance, a question that had been poking at her for some time. "She's central to all this... but where is she? Uh... is she even... alive? I mean... well, you know what I mean".

"Only the Black Hand knows all the answers to that question, dear girl", Ocheeva replied simply with a hint of an apology. "What I do know is that it was she who married Sithis and bore his children, their terrible love bringing forth the Brotherhood. As to who she is or was, when she existed and the details of how she came to be... I cannot answer that properly. Not in detail, as I wish to be able to".

Antoinetta let it go for the moment, and drew up another similar question, hoping for the best.

"Who or what is Sithis? I mean... I am just a lowly murderer... but his importance sounds... well".

It was this question that brought a seeming jolt of energetic life within the motherly Argonian, who rubbed her gloved hands together with pleasure, clearly savouring the simple question, one she could answer well. When she spoke, she did so with relish, visibly quickened on her surface and withing. It was performed with a passion that startled Antoinetta, and kept her fascination in suspense.

"Who is Sithis? Sithis, by contrast of the unholy Matron, is known to me almost in His entirety... for he speaks to us all, not simply the Black Hand. It is not difficult to know Sithis... but it is to best describe Him. It is His beautiful voice, and His Will that calls us to take life. He is neither a mere mortal, an immortal, a Divine, a Daedric nor an Aedric. He is _everything_ terrible in our universe and He is _nothing _at all. He is an eternal Void, like the one he resides in, and is appeased by death and suffering... particularly that which is performed by His Children. He has no beginning, and He has no end. He has always been. His actions across the eras are more subtle then any other worshipped beings. There are many books within this Sanctuary and abroad, written not only by faithful brothers and sisters, but the views of outsiders, detailing the history of the Brotherhood, The Night Mother and Sithis himself... each of these books I will show you one day if you wish, but what it all comes down to is this: that He will speak to you Himself... and you will form your own unique relationship with Him, as all of us do. Do not allow possible inaccuracies and contradictions in any of the books to pollute how you feel for Him, how you perceive Him, for in some ways, each relationship He holds to each different child is not truly the same. Ultimately, however, all who serve Him, will one day meet Him. In short... He is you and me. We are but an extension, a testament, of His everlasting will and existence".

Ocheeva allowed this careful explanation to sink into the young woman, but noted not only her wonderful, quickening fascination with the Dread Father, but the clear, almost overwhelming exhaustion. She smiled knowingly, and moved away from the incalculably massive and open ended topic. Antoinetta was on the verge of asking a dozen more questions about Him, but the Mistress spoke up first.

"As wonderful as it is to speak of Him with one so curious and avid to know, you must sleep for now", Ocheeva insisted gently, motioning to the pillow behind the girl. Antoinetta's eyes followed her hand, then flickered back up quickly as the questions continued to threaten to roll off her tongue rapidly. "How can you be expected to process the enormity of your new life... if you have been deprived of precious rest?"

Antoinetta started to argue, but at meeting her kindly face and soothing words, could not find it in herself do so. She simply nodded, and resigned herself to lay her head back against the comfortable pillow. Ocheeva took the uniform and it's hood from her carefully, before drawing the warm, thick covers back up over her, and rising up to her feet, moving not yet for the door, but the table across the room.

"I shall put your new uniform over here until tomorrow", Ocheeva told her, folding up the suit and laying it across the top of the table, and turning back to face her. "After you wake, and have something to eat, you will be able to bathe yourself before putting it on for the first time... I can see you are already looking forward to each of these things. Ah yes, and I very nearly forgot one other thing. Lucien sends you his best wishes and hopes you have a speedy recovery, just as I do. For now, I must bid you good night, Child of Sithis. Meditate in sleep upon that which I and the others have told you".

Before Ocheeva could reach the doorway, halfway across the room, Antoinetta's hushed, nervous voice managed to speak another question, one she had been too shy to voice earlier to any of the others, but at Ocheeva's mention of the Speaker, she found her strength to do so. There was something about Ocheeva's particular, matronly manner that told her she would understand... and Antoinetta found herself most comfortable in posing this question to a fellow woman.

"Um... Mistress?", She began delicately, causing the Argonian to pause before the doorway and return her focus upon the nervous child, who was struggling shyly with something within herself. "I was uh... wondering something else, before you go..."

Ocheeva moved back away from the door and sat again at the edge of the bed, peering back benignly at the Breton, whose hands were again intertwining nervously above the covers. It was this shyness Ocheeva had seen before on many faces of many young women, and she believed she knew the source of it almost at once.

"What is it, child?".

It took quite some time for the words to escape, but Ocheeva waited patiently for her to draw them into existence, which she finally managed.

"Well... I was wondering... it's just... _is_ Lucien still here?", Antoinetta stammered hopefully, blushing crimson again despite every effort not to, and Ocheeva had to resist a pleased laugh as she was proven right, lest it be interpreted incorrectly as rude. "Does he... _live _here in the Sanctuary with us? And when I say that, I mean... well... I...-

"I'm sorry for any disappointment my answer will bring... but he does _not_", Ocheeva answered apologetically her hand moving to the young woman's nearly bare shoulder and holding it tenderly. "He has a lot of work to do as a Speaker for the Black Hand, and as such, often requires complete undivided focus on it. He lives very close to Cheydinhal, but not within it's walls. We cannot always distract him from the Night Mother's many duties".

"Oh...", Antoinetta uttered simply, unable to say much else. Her eyes went everywhere except upon Ocheeva's knowing ones, and she smiled faintly, the disappointment evident within it.

"That is _not_, however, to say that he _never _visits us", Ocheeva continued more gently, recapturing the young woman's attention abruptly. "Indeed, he gives us what free time he does have, whenever he can. He has been known to drop by for a meal now and again... and before he left this morning, you will be quite interested to know, I convinced him to join us for a feast next Loredas, which is to be held for Telaendril's return, and to celebrate the Evening Star. Needless to say there will be much to celebrate, with you here now, in addition to these things. You'll be able to see him then."

"_Oh_...", Antoinetta repeated blankly, her disappointment replaced with something entirely different, a glowing radiance that nearly overwhelmed her visible exhaustion, her widened blue eyes scarcely blinking.

"Think nothing of it. Sleep, dear child", Ocheeva insisted warmly, patting her mane of unkempt hair before rising again and making her way for the door, in which she, like the others, paused in. "Since it's my turn to stay up this morning, I will peek in on you now and again in case you need anything... just let me know if that's the case."

"I will, Mistress", The young woman replied at once, finding her nearly breathless voice again. "Thank you again for everything... thank each of you... I just don't know how to do so enough..."

"Your presence here is more then enough payment, Antoinetta.", Ocheeva reassured her earnestly, preparing herself to leave, her tasks of the morning already circulating through her mind. "May Sithis bring a plethora of well deserved good dreams to you, and watch over you for all time".

" 'May the Night Mother always watch over you' , Mistress", Antoinetta repeated Vicente's words delicately, as if worried to speak the phrase incorrectly and in so doing anger the Mother or Sithis Himself.

She recalled it properly, and this show of memory in spite of everything that had occurred to her not only that night, but each of the one's before it, pleased Ocheeva, who at last took her leave out into the corridor, closing the pair of large doors partially, and leaving the child to rest.

Antoinetta Marie lay in the comfortable bed for quite some time, simply gazing up at the rocky outcropping of the ceiling amidst the flickering, dim lights of the multiple candles about the room. It was not so much that she could not sleep, nor that a parade of questions and feelings were filtering through her heart... it was simply because she wasn't used to comfort. That fact in it's self dawned on her all at once. She had been so adapted to her 'life', out on the streets in her travels, or in prison, she had not considered that something of this magnitude was even possible. To be found and brought by a tall, dark and handsome gentleman to a group of men and women who not only didn't judge her life, but who sympathized entirely with even the most darkest of her impulses and pleasures. To be not only fed, but treated of the illnesses that had striven to overtake her. To be shown the existence of an otherworldly entity.. this unholy force of nothingness they called Sithis, who Himself had long cared for her and watched over her, alongside an Unholy Matron. A force that brought her to this home.

To be shown an entirely new way in which she could live. It was exactly as Lucien Lachance had promised her. It was a _new_ life... a _real_ life that she belonged to, not one she had never been able to understand. She understood this one well, even amidst her haze, and knowledge would never be withheld from her. In this Sanctuary, she would not only get to love and be loved... but take lives on her Family and Dread Father's behalf... she could stab out at the filth of the world that had tried so hard to swallow her, to destroy her, and had failed to do so. Already she longed to feel a warm jet of the blood of another spraying into her face, staining the entirety of her new outfit... her first set of armour, in a scarlet wave in which she would bathe. She would have the means not only to take revenge time and time again, but as Vicente had also said, to pray on _other_s... guilty and 'innocent', alike. It didn't matter. They would fall against her might. She would show them each she wasn't the frightened little girl that they would have her be, but a murderess of the night, bringing death wherever she ventured, preceded by pain and suffering as she had had to. She had love now... as she had never had it... and there was a purpose to her waking again that evening rather then allowing herself to die and be done with everything. She no longer sought death for herself... for now she begot it. Passed it along to the Nirn that had tried to damn her, had tried to make her something weak and despicable. This was a transformation that beat back the cruel clutches of the guards and the others from her hazy memory, and although it remained, it did so in a state of hibernation from which she alone could wake it, could draw her anger and passion from, at any time.

There was a poignancy to it all that could not be described in mere words. And it had all been made possible by the _only_ Imperial she had _ever _known that hadn't wanted to take anything from her but her hand into his own.

It was on this final thought she dwelled, on the image of his handsome, truthful face, second by second, until even these brief, wonderful moments grew hazy beneath her exhaustion, and she was swallowed up into a void of darkness, perhaps not much different then that of Sithis's own. The Dark Sister's, the latest child of the Dark Brotherhood, eyelids grew too heavy to resist any longer, and the instant they closed she was already fast asleep.

* * *

><p><strong><em>The Family that slays together...<em>**

On the following Loredas evening in the deep recesses of Fort Farragut, Lucien Lachance reluctantly lowered his quill from the parchment he was writing upon to check the time. Upon doing so, he scanned again over his writings and the letters with their numerous contracts he had received from Ungolim. He was going to continue on, but thought better of it, knowing it would be best to head out already. He was just about done with them all anyways, and his tasks, as they always did, would be waiting for him upon his return. He had made a promise to the Mistress, and he had always kept the promises he made to his family. As a Speaker and the head of the family, what kind of example to them would he be if he didn't, if he spoke falsehoods only the weak could contrive? A man who did not spend time with his own family, could not truly be considered man. As such, he at last rolled up the many pieces of parchment, and set aside the quill beside the large container of ink, alongside a great many of the books he had brought out. He rose from his seat silently, and went to change out of his dress-ware and into the enchanted robes of the Black Hand that the Cheydinhal Sanctuary was so accustomed to seeing him wear. The warmth and Magicka that flowed through the robes was palpable as he drew down the hood, and a satisfied expression formed. No matter how many times he had put them on over the years, as it had been with his shrouded armour in his youth, he relished the power stirring within them. Before departing, he retrieved his silvered short sword where he kept it in his bedside cabinets... and just as he was to leave, he remembered something else. It didn't take too long to find it, another sheathed and silvered weapon, albeit, a dagger, that he had been planning to bring with him... a present of sorts he had been unable to bestow earlier, as it were. Tucking it out of sight into a pocket, he crossed the dimly lit chamber and made his way to the rope ladder rising to the trap door that led to the surface.

Ascending within the hollowed tree, the cold air of the Evening Star meeting his face, he sealed the trapdoor behind himself, and continued on through the thick snow of the forest. It was only a short walk down the the town of Cheydinhal beyond the ruins of the Fort... and as such, he did not call upon Shadowmere to accompany him. He took his time, not out of any reluctance to attend the feast, not that in the slightest to be sure, but to enjoy the beauty that was this night. How many had he seen so very much like it before? Regardless of this, he enjoyed it as though it were to be the last. Already he looked forward to the feast... the opportunity to preside over a complete family again... with the girl's arrival.

His Mother and Father had come through, as They always did for their faithful children... and he thanked Them each every day. Not once through the years had his faith wavered even in the slightest... as it was for all members of the Black Hand... he hunted the Traitor daily as he carried out his other services to the Parents... but on this of all nights, They had saw fit to grant him a brief interlude in which to visit the ones who gave him strength and happiness... the Cheydinhal family he had unified. He slipped into the city again beneath a comfortable shroud of invisibility, and made his way to the abandoned house at the edge of town, moving to the basement, and presenting himself before the Ancient Black Door at the end of the tunnel, his eyes silently marvelling in the beauty of the sketching and symbols inscribed upon it... the cruel hand of Sithis and His Unholy Bride birthing the Brotherhood. Although he had many times done so, and no longer had to give the answer if he did not want to, he did so again and again, and would continue to. He waited for it to ask him the question it had given all the others, and with no more then a moment's pause, his low voice gave the reply:

"_Sanguine_, my Brother".

The Door opened it's self, and with a warm welcome, presented the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary to him again. Within it's main hallway, Ocheeva, clad in her shrouded armour, already awaited his arrival, and as his shadow fell across her, his silhouette illuminated in the candlelight throughout the Sanctuary, she approached him with a pleased smile.

"Good evening, Mistress".

"Welcome Speaker! I didn't even need to guess you would be coming through this Door instead of the well again", her rasping voice greeted as he took her gloved hand again courteously and brought it to his lips, hooded head bowed forward. "You are just on time, as you always seem to be. Vicente and Gogron finally set the table and completed their feast a few minutes ago... we have not yet begun. We were waiting for you. I was hoping you would arrive soon... you know how impatient Gogron gets over eating... to say nothing of their arguments over the preparation of the feast. Thank Sithis Telaendril arrived this early morning... I fear if she hadn't, the meals never would have gotten finished with all that bickering. That girl is better even then I at keeping Gogron focused".

"But of course she is", Lucien replied silkily, folding his gloved hands behind his back as the Mistress slowly led him towards the doors of the living quarters, so as to allow them to speak further. As he passed through the hall, the Dark Guardian of the Sanctuary lurched around a pillar, shuffling as ever, and passed right by him without any recognition. A small, cold smile touched the Speaker's thin lips as he marvelled silently in his own handiwork before peering back sideways to the Argonian. "I trust that means then her travels went safely enough? That there were no... _incidents_?"

"None, thankfully", Ocheeva answered, clearly relieved with the outcome as they rounded the next stone pillar, the twin doors of the Living Quarters coming into sight. "She accomplished her tasks marvellously I admit, despite her vigorous skills perfect for these assignments... in times like these, the... disappearances, I have been growing nervous each time one of us leaves the Sanctuary. It is not that I doubt her or any of the others skills... it is... difficult to explain"

"That is to be expected, Mistress", Lucien replied quietly, sharing the sentiment himself. "You are the matron of this Sanctuary... it is you who takes care of the others in my absences. If you did not feel fear for their safety, you would not be. You are perfect for this role... and that is why I selected you to begin with. You possess in your heart the kind of love of a mother. One vital to the growth of any family, and one I cannot give. I may have brought most of you here... but it isn't I who maintains them so wonderfully".

"Thank you, dearest Speaker", Ocheeva answered with clear gratitude, smiling sideways to the hooded man. By now they had reached the doors, and it was he who took their handles and pushed the creaking doors forward, revealing the stone staircase and the next corridor below. The instant the doors parted, noise filtered through and into his ears, a great chattering echo of voices within the Living Quarters, a bellowing laugh that could only belong to an Orc, and the clatter of plates and glasses. Next came a collection of rich scents from the good that awaited him, and he noted the distinct lack of burnt food reaching his senses with relief. "Your words, as ever, do me a great honour".

"Think nothing of it dearest Mistress", Lucien replied simply, returning her smile partially as they descended the stone steps, the level of noises and enticing aromas growing the closer they drew to the source. "I speak but the truth. On a similar note, as we speak of our family... tell me... how is the child adjusting to her life within the Sanctuary, what has occurred and _how _is she doing?"

When Ocheeva spoke, she did so with a sudden proud gleaming in her eyes.

"Better then even I thought she would actually. It took her a little time to lower the veil of shyness she'd worn... but once she put her effort to it, she succeeded quite well, her inner personality revealing it's self. Teinaava met her, and he, as I knew he would, approves of her presence greatly. Her illnesses have evaporated for the most part thanks to the potions, and the food has helped give her her strength back gradually. Vicente has been watching over her progress closely, and she's almost fully recovered... thankfully she has also recovered enough to attend our feast. This past week she has been, for the most part, absorbing knowledge of all kinds, asking the most delightful questions of us, and has begun spending time getting acquainted with her armour and the Training Room... to Mraaj Dar's irritation, and our own enjoyment. Our poor Brother is finding himself quite outnumbered in his dislike of her. Gogron has been helping her out with training, and she's been picking up his tips pretty quickly. A couple days ago she strengthened enough to move out of my own Quarters, at her own insistence, and has taken residence in the Living Quarters, in Maria's old bed. Mathieu's was far too uncomfortable for her... I'll have to have it and his chest removed soon. This morning, when Telaendril arrived and met the young woman herself, she revealed another part of her personality to us. Would you believe me when I say that she actually speaks quite a bit now? I think the two have been chatting together almost non stop since Telaendril arrived. Antoinetta speaks a lot not only of the Sanctuary, Sithis and the Brotherhood with a keen interest and mind, however... but of _you _in particular as well. As a matter of fact... she speaks of you more then anything else".

Her scarlet eyes were knowing, and did little to hide the amusement she held within, and another, faint smile passed across Lucien's thin lips. If Ocheeva was to be believed... then perhaps his fellow Speaker had been on to something in her own concerns when last they met.

"_I_, dear Mistress?", The Speaker enquired in a smooth, falsely innocent voice. He had long known the effect, the sway, he held over others, and thrived in it, speaking of it with traces of bemusement, but not unkindly so. "Of what interest could _I _of all others be to one so young as she?"

"Oh, don't play coy Lucien", Ocheeva laughed quietly in response, shaking her head. The end of the next corridor came into sight, and with a final turn they would have at last arrived. Before rounding it, Ocheeva stopped them next to the wall, and spoke again, moving closer to Lucien, her raspy voice growing quieter, lest the others beyond it hear. Based upon the continual noises escaping the Living Quarters, there was little concern of this happening. "You saved her life, dear Speaker, and you brought her to us. You saw it coming a mile away... my only request on the matter is that you not purposefully embarrass the child... although she will be bashful regardless I'm certain. She glows when she speaks of you, the life returning to her features in a way Vicente's potions could not achieve, and seeing you again, I'm sure, will do more good for her then even we could have done in this past week."

Lucien's hazel, calm eyes studied the protective, earnest Argonian he had taught to perform Sithis's will, the manner in which she cared for the child, and his love for her quickened.

"My dear Ocheeva, your concerns are more then appreciated... but I would never dream of doing any such thing to the girl, particularly in front of the others. She has my love as all I have recruited for Sithis do... but you continually give yourself too little credit. The Night Mother's beckoning brought her to us, and it is you who have been caring for her... I play but a footnote here... but it is one I shall unwaveringly perform."

"Thank you, Lucien", Ocheeva replied with a measure of relief, the reassurance settling it's self over her, and she nodded, her eyes flickering beside them to the final corner of the corridor before returning to her Speakers. Gently, she took his arm into her own with familiarity, as she had done before, and at this tender gesture Lucien was pleased. "Well now, I see no reason to keep them. We had best get in there before a fight breaks out, no?"

"Lead on, dear Sister, lead on", Lucien said with his ever low tone, allowing her to take the reigns, and withdrawing to the role of observer. "That would be most unfortunate on such a lovely evening as this."

Ocheeva took the lead, and within a moment, they had passed around the corner, and into the stronger illuminations of the candles and torches of the noisy Living Quarters. It had been a very long time since last Lucien had seen this particular room of the Sanctuary, yet it returned to him in an instant how little had changed. On the right wing of the spacious Living Quarters, centred around another stone pillar, rested a half circle of six comfortable looking beds, each holding not only a locked chest and several bags of the occupants belongings close at hand, but a bedside table with a single dimly lit white candle affixed to it. Each bed, of course, was empty of it's owner. A large domesticated Scheever with coarse, matted brown fur and black beady eyes, that had not been there the prior time Lucien had seen these quarter, moved amongst the circular rugs, and probably would have blended in with ease, were it not for it's meter long size and width of a dog. It sniffed at the carpet until it had found a comfortable place to lay, and it did so, curling up into a furry ball, yet not falling asleep.

The centre of the Living Quarters was the most undetailed part of the room. There were several barrels and crates close beside the two great prevalent columns holding the ceiling upright, but aside from that, there was little else. The left wing of the Living Quarters, however, was an entirely separate matter in it's self. It was this section of the quarters that was the most dimly lit, but even this couldn't hide the scene before Lucien. Along the walls, spaced far apart, rested two wooden pantry's, a large bottle rack of liquors, most of which were absent, and a shelf that had been pulled aside to allow more room for the feast. There were two tables, one wooden and long, it's seats comprising of a small bench on either side of it, while the other was a smaller round one, it's seats not benches, but four straight backed chairs, their backs crafted into the bemusing shape of a gravestone. They had been pulled closer together so that the round table sat just a few feet from the end of the longer table. The surfaces of both prepared tables were far from empty, not only the utensils arranged perfectly.

Dishes of meats including chicken, turkey, Mud Crab meat of all things, mutton and beef, potatoes both crisp and mashed accompanied by bowls of steaming gravy, a wheel of cheese, plates of fresh corn cobs soaked in butter, salads of leeks, lettuce, fresh rice and carrots with pewter bowls of grapes, soups and wild berrys all awaited Lucien, amongst the other foods and nourishments of the vast feast, the likes of which the Speaker had scarcely seen. The beverage selection was just as impressive. Fine crystalline glasses, pewter mugs and tankards rested closely beside a sea of tall bottles amongst the dishes of the tables, including ales, beers, vintage and cheap wines, brandy, whiskey and... to Lucien's satisfaction, a selection of Nordic and local meads. The dinner plates belonging to most of the chatting Brothers and Sisters in attendance were already filled with food, but none of it touched.

Despite the grand scale of the feast, it were these others who quickly drew the Speakers attention away, and onto to his children and friends, for whom his heart expanded as he glimpsed them all together in such a way before him. At the long table, sat four brothers and sisters, two on each bench facing one another over the table top.

On one bench sat the laughing Gogron, clad almost in his full set, save the helmet and gauntlets, of steel armour, his battleaxe was surprisingly absent for the occasion. He was resting his armoured elbows on the table, warm and jolly eyes flickering down hungrily at the mound of potatoes, mutton and gravy soaking his massive plate, and speaking loudly to the robed Khajiit man at his side, whose arms, as ever, seemed permanently crossed as he mumbled something back or nodding occasionally. He did not look altogether as unpleasant as he usually did, but nevertheless shot an irritated look across the table now and again of annoyance in the direction of two of his Dark Sisters. The lovely Telaendril, as Ocheeva had already spoken of, was sure enough talking avidly, enveloped protectively in not only her shrouded armour, but it's matching hood. Adorned proudly to the Wood Elf's back, was the source of her unparalleled set of skills... skills he himself had witnessed the night he first met her: a long wooden bow and a full quiver of steel tipped arrows, their red fletchings poking over the top. Her gloved hands gestured as she spoke with an uncharacteristic excitement so unlike her usually matured and subdued demeanour.. for it was a certain small Breton sister at her side that brought this out with ease.

Antoinetta Marie laughed at one of Telaendril's comments, and her head went back slightly. Gone was her tattered brown dress... for she too was wearing a set of the buckle and strap covered bodysuit that hugged to her tightly, and wore it with clear relish. While she wore a hood like Telaendril, her long hair was not tied back, and the now clean and revitalized blonde hair was spilling out and down freely over her slender shoulders. Her face, although still naturally pale, was no longer the sickly death mask it had been the last time he saw her, and most of the purple bruises were clearly relinquishing their cruel hold on her face, fading steadily, the youthful radiance and beauty beneath them overpowering all else. The most notable of the bruises, the one around her eye, was nearly gone in it's entirety, more colour returning. The nearly emaciated thinness to her body was beginning to recede in a way that told him Gogron's food had worked wonders... perhaps for the first time ever at that. There was life in every pore of her smooth flesh that cried out with energy, exhilaration and passion he hadn't yet glimpsed, but had known she had possessed it, and his thin lips drew themselves into a smile as he spotted the rouge tone was seeping back into her own pair. It was as if the entirety of the burdens and cruelty's inflicted upon her had been cast of like a suffocating blanket, and an entirely different being free from the agony had been reborn in her place.

His all seeing eyes passed on slowly towards the round table, where two seats were occupied, and another pair close by that awaited the Speaker and Mistress were empty. Teinaava, hooded as ever leaned towards Vicente Valtieri, elongated head poking out from the hood, his gloved hands intertwined and scaly green tail poking comfortably out the back of his shrouded armour and chair, each of their scarlet eyes focused intently on their discussion, and the two spoke more quietly then the younger brethren of the Brotherhood, but nevertheless, with the same warmth and enjoyment of their surroundings.

From what Lucien could see, Vicente's dinner plate, and the one before the seat beside him, were the only ones empty of the two tables, the next that had likely been Ocheeva's had already been prepared in her absence. The only nourishment the Vampire, clad in his finest dark dress ware including a cravat and golden amulet for the occasion, hair drawn back in a ponytail as it always was, had before him, was a tall glass of scarlet liquid, too thick and familiar to Lucien to be mistaken for a mere beverage... or at least, one that most not of his kind did not readily consume. It's source lay close at hand in a dusty glass bottle, it's depths murky and ungovernable. His dusty frock coat had been removed for the occasion and it lay comfortably hanging from the back of the Vampire's chair.

In their deepened discussions, not one of them noticed their Mistress silently leading their Speaker into the room, even when they stood behind the bench Telaendril and Antoinetta occupied, watching comfortably the scene unfold. At long last, Ocheeva addressed them first, simply clearing her throat in an audible fashion. Gogron, being one of the closest to them, was the first to look up from his pining after a leg of chicken on his plate, and his eyes widened, another tusk-like grin breaking out like a rash. The Khajiit at his side sat, if possible, even more upright, his arms uncrossing. The pair of previously oblivious Dark Sisters whirled around together as one in their seats, a warm smile forming upon the experienced Wood Elf and a crimson flush upon the young Breton woman. Across from this table, Teinaava clapped his hands together with delight as he gazed upon his Speaker, and Vicente, thin lipped smile knowing, inclined his head to Lucien, raising his crimson glass in the Imperial's direction and sharing a bemused understanding before lowering it again.

"Look who I found 'sneaking' through the main entrance and into the Sanctuary, dear Brothers and Sisters...", Ocheeva introduced the faintly amused, hooded man at her side, maintaining her hold upon his arm and peering around at them all. "You would think with his penchant for invisibility, he would choose a far more subtle way to come in".

A great chorus of high spirited laughs and welcomes rang throughout the Living Quarters, and it was, unsurprisingly, Gogron who immediately rose from his seat and bounded away from it, stepping closer to the Mistress and Speaker. Ignoring the Mistress, shunting her to the side gently to look on with a smile, he enveloped Lucien, to his mingled amusement and pain, in a nearly bone breaking, jolly mannered hug. Lucien grunted quietly as the bones in his strained shoulders and back began to make some less then pleasant sounds that were drowned out amidst Gogron's laughter and greetings, and the Speaker moved a hand to the towering Orc's armoured back, at first patting it respectfully, and then moving it to his shoulders, attempting to relinquish the bear-like embrace and push him backwards.

"Speaker! Bout time ya got here! How's it goin old man?", Gogron's booming voice seemed to shout within the Imperial's very skull, making his eardrums ring. For a moment or two, it was almost possible to believe that the strength of his voice alone could push Lucien backwards, the crushing arms alone preventing this from occurring "Damn I'm hungry after all that work! I was startin to think ya got lost on your way here!"

"Not at all, dear brother", Lucien's concerted voice replied, and he failed, of course, to break the hold of the Orc. Thankfully, Telaendril too had risen from her seat, and was moving forward to exert her power over Gogron, still smiling happily "It is, as ever, welcome to see you again, Gogron... but if you don't mind... I'm not certain as to how much longer my bones have before they shatter like powdery filaments of glass."

"_Hah! _That's the Speaker for you, always joking around-

"Save a few pieces of him for the rest of us, Gogron, you aren't the only one here who missed him", Telaendril's lovely, smooth voice requested from behind him, her own gloved hands moving to shake the Orc off. With evident reluctance, Gogron obeyed, still laughing to himself, but not moving back to his seat in the hopes of getting another chance to crush the robed Imperial. Ocheeva held an arm out in front of him, so as to evaporate his intention of doing so any further, to his disappointment. Telaendril's green eyes sparkled as she peered back upon her Speaker, and with more swiftness then the Orc, yet with infinity less exerted strength, embraced the Speaker tightly and as warmly as her manner. Lucien, satisfied the bones in his shoulders were not broken, returned the tall Bosmer's affectionate gesture in turn, gloved hands moving down to her back. From over her slender shoulder, Mraaj Dar, remaining in his seat, welcomed him in the form of raising his hand respectfully, which Lucien nodded back at kindly.

"It is wonderful to see you again dear Speaker", Telaendril murmured quietly, greeting with open arms the man who had once sought to kill her, pulling back from the hug but keeping her gloved hands on either of his shoulders. She moved forward again another time as she held him, bringing her lips to his face and kissing him upon his cheek tenderly, lingering for a long moment before withdrawing. "If only I'd been at the Sanctuary last week..."

"You wouldn't have been able to perform your duty to Sithis. Think nothing of it dear sister", Lucien's low, soothing voice answered for her gently, his thin lips smiling partially. "I am merely pleased your journey was a safe one... we cannot afford to lose one as ambitious, and might I add, lovely, as yourself".

Telaendril smiled back at him warmly in turn, and lowered her hands from his shoulders before stepping aside, still standing beside her seat on the bench. Gogron, sensing his opening, again attempted to move in for another hug with the Speaker, brushing Telaendril aside, but Ocheeva held fast, fixing him with a reapproving look that the Orc towering over her succumb to instantly. One hug had been more then enough... and another would do far more harm then good. With a good matured huff, Gogron moved back to his seat and settled down on it. The moment Telaendril stepped aside, the unmistakable young Breton behind her received the spotlight, her hands nervously wringing one another. She had not risen from her seat, more out of shyness then anything else, and it was she, her eyes flickering between himself and the stone floor as if it were the most interesting thing she'd ever seen, that his attention focused upon.

"It warms my heart to know you are recovering in a most steadfast manner, dearest child", His low voice informed her, drawing back her focus easily, her eyes widening up at him. He moved then, but not away, and as he did so, he cast an amused, apologetic look in the direction of the Mistress, who watched on with a mixture of both exasperation and the unmistakable urge to laugh. Lucien leaned forward quite slowly, his movements shadowy and like the pouring of liquid, and he took her small hand into his own stronger one, raising it up to his lips. Before it had even made contact, the effect was noticed by all, and each either smiled from their respective perspectives, outright grinned in Gogron's case, or merely watched on with a trace of disgust, as was Mraaj Dar's way. Antoinetta's eyes were not the only thing to widen, but her entire jaw dropped when his lips made contact with the back of her glove. As butterflies flew in a swarm across her stomach, she was nearly overcome by the desire to remove the glove from her hand and have him repeat the gesture, still flustered as he drew back his head and carefully released her hand.

"I know you will be entirely well again soon... and you have my continued sympathies".

"T-thank you L- uh... s...Speaker", Antoinetta's high, accented, recovered voice stammered out as her hand ran it's way through her mane of hair shyly and dropped back into her lap, scarcely blinking as she peered up in enraptured awe with the dark man. "It's n-nice to... I mean it's good to, to see you again".

"If only he could drop by here more often", A sophisticated voice with the same accent as herself broke in agreeably on her behalf, sparing her the onlookers as everyone's attention shifted over in his direction, allowing her to recover herself. Vicente peered back at Lucien, scarlet eyes twinkling with merry delight as he surveyed his favourite brother, and gestured to the chair at his side. "But then, that's why I am a mere Executioner, and he rests upon the mighty Black Hand. He can make particular sacrifices... though your extended absences certainly have the advantage of making your visits more welcome then ever. Come take a load off for an evening, won't you? Stay awhile and listen. The Brotherhood won't tear it's self apart in a single evening, and I'd say you've more then earned a break."

"If I visited more often, dear Vicente... I would find it far more difficult to leave you all then it already is.", Lucien replied just as smoothly, if not more so then his Vampire mentor. At this point Telaendril took her seat again beside Antoinetta, who, blushing as ever, whispered excitedly into the Bosmer's concealed pointy ear, causing her to smile back at her new sister and pat her on the shoulder, whispering right back. Ocheeva moved again to Lucien's side, detaching herself from the wall, and together they proceeded to the table's vacant seats to settle themselves in. While Ocheeva took her own seat, Vicente rose from his and extended a ghostly pale hand to Lucien, who took it graciously at once. Before they could shake, however, Vicente broke it off, and he too embraced his old friend with a long, poignant hug, as well as repeating Telaendril's gesture of affection, kissing the Imperial upon the cheek quite comfortably, an evident smile forming upon Lucien. "How do you do, 'old man'? Still dining on empty plates and full glasses I see".

"Oh, the plate? I'm more thirsty this evening then I am hungry... but human habits scarcely die... and I don't much enjoy keeping the body's of my victims around, as others might. A body might not fit on such a small table. I manage... my night life hasn't lost it's thrill in three century's as you already know, and it's been even easier as of late with your inquisitive child over there", Vicente answered respectfully, casting a tender glance in the direction of the fellow Breton as they settled down into their seats, Vicente at Lucien's right, Ocheeva watching on from his left shoulder. Antoinetta, deep in conference with Telaendril, alongside Gogron's loud voice talking to Mraaj Dar again, did not hear this compliment, and was spared another blush. "A fresh face and questions to answer are always so very welcome, are it not?"

"They are indeed, Vicente... they are indeed."

"How do you do Speaker?", Teinaava's low, raspy voice addressed him, leaning his way and displaying the same sea of glinting teeth his sister had, the green and red shades of his reptilian face illuminated as he did so. He watched his Speaker with the unwavering respect he had always possessed for him, like that of a son for his father, and his gloved hand extended forward. "Busy busy I'm sure... I daresay you are being overworked lately. I pity those who you have been... 'visiting', in your travels."

Lucien peered back at the accomplished Shadowscale, and a kind of wry smile formed as he took the offered hand and shook it graciously.

"Well, not as overworked as another of the Speakers... but things have certainly been eventful, dear brother".

"I bet they have", The Argonian agreed with a knowing nod of his hooded head, and he leaned back against the chair comfortably. "To say nothing of our new sister's presence, goodness, I don't even think Gogron speaks as much as she does!".

"Sorry we left your plate empty Lucien", His twin sister apologized at Lucien's side, reaching for several of the food plates including a could ones of meat, corn, potatoes and salad and bringing them closer to the Speaker so he could dish up. Lucien did so at once with a respectful look at the Mistress of his home, and put enough food on his plate to cover it. Ocheeva retrieved one of the tall bottles standing out amongst the others of the table and popped off the cork with ease. "We weren't sure how much or what you would want... but unless I'm entirely mistaken, you'll take a glass of mead courtesy of the fields of Skyrim?"

"I will, dear sister... and you have my thanks", Lucien answered as the motherly Argonian poured the golden substance forth and into his glass, but he did not yet drink. The Speaker's eyes flickered between her and the other pair on his right. "I have been looking forward to this night... I see you spared no expense in these preparations. You are to be commended... particularly you and Gogron, Vicente".

"More me then him dear Speaker", Vicente assured Lucien with a mock disdain in regards to the Orc. "I'm surprised we didn't tear these quarters apart... though I'm sure much of that accomplishment lies within Telaendril's wonderful control over our brutish brother."

Down the length of the tables, Gogron had broken off from his conversation with Mraaj Dar, and was again hungrily eyeing the gravy soaked chicken leg on the forefront of his plate. Rubbing his massive, roughened hands together with gleeful delight, he made a grab for it, only to find the back of his hand swatted by the nimble reflexes of a particular Wood Elf opposite him, who was eyeing him seriously from within her hood. Gogron scowled and rubbed his hand as if it had been stabbed, and Antoinetta was unable to stifle a giggle, watching with great interest, and even the normally irritated Khajiit seemed to smirk, though he quickly hid it.

"_Hey! _What in the Void was that for Sister! Lucien's here now, and I'm damn hungry! I've waited long enough! I mean, I cooked the whole bloody thing you know, come on, cut me some slack!"

From the round table, Vicente coughed abruptly, clearing his throat, and the Orc pretended not to hear. Teinaava released a low, rasping chuckle of sympathy.

"Next time you reach without permission, I use my fork instead, dearest Brother", Telaendril warned with a raised eyebrow, staring at him unblinkingly until his hand had retreated frightfully away from the plate before himself, and satisfied, her own lowered back to the surface of the table. "Or you'll find yourself taking an arrow to the hand. There is nothing in the Five Tenets telling me I can't teach you a few lessons in etiquette, so long as they won't kill you... though I'm surprised the very mention of them have not yet done so. I don't think I've ever seen you use a single utensil in your life!".

"Aw what's the problem? You're getting your linens all bunched up I say! ... if you're even wearin any..."

"Antoinetta is far newer here then you and she already understands what I'm talking about! The problem, dearest brother, is that Lucien has not yet made his toast, and you're already trying to kick start the meal before he, _our Speaker_, has given the say to do so!", Telaendril exclaimed, ignoring his shrewd comment and grin, apart from a tired sigh, she glanced down the table to the watching Speaker, her green eyes inquisitive. "Am I right in this assumption, Speaker?"

Lucien had foresaw this possibility, and had chosen not to prepare for it. He found the effects of his words were more inspiring when they came to him rather then he to them... as they so often did, by themselves. He smiled lightly at the indignant Bosmer.

"You are indeed Telaendril, I thank you for your vigilance", Lachance replied at once, inclining his head. At this Telaendril shot a gloating look to the silence stricken Orc, kicking him in the leg beneath the table, and the brothers and sisters of both tables swiftly turned their undivided attention towards himself. "A few words are in order for such an occasion as this, I believe. If we would all raise our drinks, I might begin".

The change in manner was abrupt, and down the table Gogron shot a final scowl at the victorious Bosmer and raised his massive tankard of Ale to his Speaker. This was followed by Mraaj Dar, who uncrossed his arms at last, and a smiling Telaendril, raising their own mugs of respective beverages. Antoinetta, fumbling with a beautiful crystal glass she had chosen, never having been given the chance before to use such expensive utensils, with a fancy, vintage wine bubbling within, nearly dropped it in her abruptness to obey Lucien's request, turning not merely her hooded head in his direction, but her entire body, leaning herself closer towards him. At the round table that held the most senior members of the Brotherhood, the twin Argonians raised their own mugs... and at Lucien's right hand, Vicente had already risen his glass of scarlet liquid before any of the others, his aged, gentlemanly eyes watching the Speaker with palpable reverence With all the attention focused upon him, Lucien rose from his seat, holding his own glass aloft, scanning over the contrasting brothers and sisters presented before and around him, from one Brother century's old to the newest Sister, no older then her early twenties. From the jolly to the bitter. He began then, his voice low, yet carrying throughout the entire quarters easily.

"I will try to be brief... so as to allow us to indulge in the grand meal that has been painstakingly prepared this Evening Star, as soon as possible... it is one each of us here has more then earned", The Speaker informed them, continuing to scan over his faithful brethren leisurely.

At this, Gogron's booming voice rose again in agreement from down the tables, and all eyes swivelled his way at once.

"Here here!", The Orc insisted, tilting his tankard in Lucien's direction with a grin. "Those contracts don't kill themselves, now do they?"

"By Sithis, hush Gogron!", Telaendril hissed in a deadly manner at once, but Gogron paid no attention, and to the Wood Elf's surprise, Lucien returned the Orc's smile, and nodded agreeably.

"Thank you dear brother, they most certainly do not. Though I do recall this one time, when... _no_, never mind, there are far more important things to be going on with", Lucien acknowledged him respectfully and continued on, veiled eyes flickering back down towards the young Breton woman watching him almost in suspense. "To begin with... I would first like to speak of one of us in particular... the new Sister you see sitting there in your midst".

Again the swivelling of heads... save Vicente who looked over gently, and Mraaj Dar who nearly grimaced. This abrupt change of focus clearly flitted anxiety into the young woman, who smiled around nervously at all the kindly, and the one less then kind, looks... but Lucien kept going, so as to lift her worries.

"I trust each of you have been doing your utmost to give her a... ah, warm welcome", Lucien said, his eyes touching the Khajiit's for the briefest of moments, who looked away almost warily as several of the others stared at him somewhat accusingly. "For Antoinetta Marie, as many brothers and sisters of past generations, current one's and future one's yet born, has come a long way in her life within such a short period of time amongst us. Within a mere week since her arrival to the Sanctuary, under each of your presences, she has begun to not only recover physically from the torment and cruelty she endured, but to cast off her shell of being victimized... and will soon be joining each of you in the beauty of the contracts. I pity any who crosses you, dearest child of Sithis... for the Night Mother, knowing the suffering you can bring unto the weak and unworthy of Cyrodiil, of Tamriel, has saw fit to have chosen you. Her word surpasses that of any other of the Nirn, my own included. You are to be commended... the honour, I need scarcely say, is entirely ours to hold".

A great chanting of positive agreement murmured or voiced their assent around the tables, and Antoinetta blushed furiously as the family broke into clapping, gazing again down into her lap as Telaendril at her side patted her hooded head, and Gogron reached across the table, grasping her shoulder as he laughed, and forcing her to look back up. The young Breton beamed around at her new family, the embarrassment replaced by pure and unrivalled joy, and Lucien, not wishing to break this immediately, allowed it to continue for some time before the silence returned on it's own. Antoinetta's vibrant blue eyes shone in the candle-light with unmistakable welled tears, and they, with all their adoration, thanked the Speaker without even having to.

"On a second, similar note... and no less important then the first, I assure you...", Lachance continued, his soothing gaze moving on to the older sister just beyond Antoinetta, who herself broke into another wide smile as their focuses met. "Another of our dear Sisters is to be recognized for her loyalties to Sithis, the Mother, and her family. Telaendril has, not only been carrying out her expected dues to the Dark Brotherhood, in a steadfast manner that has not waned since first I brought her to us, but has been going above and beyond even this, actively volunteering for any and all opportunity to further the aims of the Brotherhood. She has been taking additional risks running messages now and again between Sanctuary's, and scouting out new locations across Cyrodiil which may yet serve our purposes. It would seem your loyalty knows no limitations, daughter of Sithis. Perhaps one day, given your continually impressing performance, I may well see you again resting not solely in a Sanctuary, but upon the Black Hand. I thank you on behalf of each of us".

Another round of applause broke out, Gogron's the loudest, in which Antoinetta joined in as avidly as she had spoken earlier, smiling back at her sister and congratulated her as the others were doing. Even Mraaj Dar joined in, clapping with consideration and inclining his head to the pleased Bosmer. Unlike Antoinetta's shy reaction to the sudden focus, Lucien noted, Telaendril thrived confidently in the spotlight... exhilarated at received attention. These respective traits held both advantages and disadvantages that would likely play a large part in their lives... but on this of all nights, it would not do to consider them aloud, and so, he merely peered respectfully back at his steadily more impressive sister. He had done well in recruiting her as he had... being the only one ever to escape his blade. Which in it's self was an accomplishment.

"Thank you, dearest Speaker", The Wood Elf spoke with reverence for her superior once the din had quieted down. "I live to serve... be it within this family, or in the manner you yourself do. I hope to achieve the honour you and the other four possess".

"I would be far from surprised if you did.", Lucien replied simply, and at last approached another topic, far less pleasant then the other two had been... but one he would address with his unceasing drive.

"There is, however... one final matter to speak of before our toast. One that has effected each of us present in a particular way", He continued, and a stifling silence like that of the grave again descended around the tables. Telaendril and Gogron's respective smiles slid away from existence, and at his immediate right, Vicente's thin lips tightened as he knew already what was to come. Assured he had their focus, as he always did, he paused for a moment, considering his somber words, and spoke them ever more gently, out of respect that had not died with her undiscovered body.

"Apart from Antoinetta's arrival here, and Telaendril's safe return to us, each of these so very welcome... these have been... rather unpleasant and trying times amidst the Cyrodiil Brotherhood... and this Sanctuary, as with the Chorrol one amongst others, has suffered direct loss. I have seen the consequences unfolding first hand... and in my duty to the Black Hand, which takes much of my time, time I would enjoy spending with you, I have not been able to address it to you each as I wished to. I apologize for this, yet it is unavoidable, as you already know. In what seems like a very short time ago, one of us no longer present... Maria, our youngest and perhaps most delightedly optimistic, once thrived here with her family... and all was truly well... as it should always have remained so, until she was taken so prematurely and cruelly away from us, her fire extinguished without so much as a single trace. She, as all other Brothers and Sisters before us, now serves in the Void all of us shall go to in the end... but this is of little comfort as it usually is, I know. For it was not the proper time... and even this grand reward does not take away the loss of our living years. Years that could yet have held something altogether different for her future. Her death is a terrible loss to all. In addition to Maria's departure, another of our children, Mathieu, has also moved on from us... though thankfully, not in a manner so cruel as the one that befell Maria, instead, in much deserved advancement."

"Twin holes have nevertheless been left punctured into this family, and I shall not try to pretend things will ever be the same again. Things of this world are always a changing constant... and no matter how hard we try, we can never keep things the way we want them to be the most. Rumours have been running uncontrollably like a plague throughout the familys... and there is fear, doubt, unanswered questions and anxiety amongst many Brothers and Sisters who do not choose to remain clouded in ignorance, who have the foresight and devotion to give this issue the attention and time it deserves. You each have my deepest sympathies with the pain you have experienced... the vengeance in many of your hearts that has not waned, that has, if anything, strengthened, only to be disappointed by a lack of results, and it is my hope that in the near future, resolution shall be brought courtesy of the Black Hand."

"I cannot, however, make any promises unless they are an entirely knowable thing... for I shall not, of course, lie... but I assure you... this matter is being taken very seriously, and so long as I and another of the Fingers draw breath, it will remain to be treated with the utmost diligence. And yet, even amidst these... doubts, these concerns you have... there have been particularly delightful occurrences lately that I believe have happened to give us cause for respite, and there is the simple yet incomparable fact that we each still have one another. We have a familys love... something that was handed down from our Dread Father and Night Mothers teachings, something they long ago achieved together, and as such, birthed us, and gave us that very thing we each have sought at one time or another. It is upon this we must focus when times grow dark amongst our ranks. I have known each of you in a particular way, and regardless of how long or short that has been, you have each already placed memories I shall carry with me so long as I am, be it mortality or in death."

"This feast is not only to usher in the hope of a new time on the horizon for us... one in which our brethren shall no longer lose their loved ones in such a manner, nor the frigid beauty of the Evening Star, but to honour said loved ones who have gone on. Who have fallen in Sithis's service upon this earthly plane, and now continue to reside for all eternity in his embrace. Let us celebrate them tonight... and not merely mourn them... but do as they would want us to. To continue forward as ever in our inexhaustible endeavours"

"Let us love and be loved in their memory and drink to all our murderers, tyrants, villains, all our beloved cruel bastards Tamriel prosecutes, calls upon, and could not exist without and always remember them, most unlovely and most unforgivable. Let us commemorate the empires they have toppled, the unimaginable wealth's they have raked in that could bankrupt any kingdom in any province, the array of dark pleasures and desires they have indulged in freely as they lived and the loyalty to the Dread Father that knows not of limitations. I therefore convey this memory of them by proposing this toast in their name".

Lucien rose his glass even higher, and the gold within shone in the light, studying each of the ones he loved, pausing in his words for the briefest of moments. Telaendril with tears in her eyes as she thought of Maria, wiping them away as quickly as possible, Antoinetta disquieted and peering up at the pale contents of her drink in thought, something like subdued passion stirring in her heart, Mraaj Dar, his scowl entirely absent, his eyes, if anything else, distant and ungovernable as they were undecipherable. Gogron had set his tankard aside to rub his eyes, coughing and shivering slightly, but adamant not to let the others see what he was doing. It fooled nobody, and Telaendril least of all. After retrieving a handkerchief from one of the numerous pockets on the front of her armour, she passed it off across the table to her Orc tenderly, and, glancing up at her loving gesture, he took it, focusing solely upon her as he brought it to his roughened face and dabbed his eyes with it. He made to hand it back to her, but she shook her head placidly, and he shoved it out of sight down the curicass of his armour, clearing his throat and raising his tankard again with the others. Mraaj Dar, although more unreadable then the others, held something knowing in his depths, and his focus never left Lucien throughout. At his own table, Teinaava too rose his drink higher, a hardened, proud look overtaking his scaly features as the words sunk in. Ocheeva at Lucien's left, the tears already gone from her eyes as she firmly gripped her mug, watching the Imperial who had been as her father, her heart touched at his summary.

Then... there was Vicente, the blood soaked stains left behind upon his deathly pale cheeks, but no longer flowed as his eyes met Lucien's. He knew precisely what Lucien spoke of through first hand experience... even before he had joined the Brotherhood... the idea of a world that required them in such an insidious relationship as it did... despising and loving them. Prosecuting and hailing them. They were the the heart of Darkness that existed in all things, in society and the wild, and they always would be. There was no changing that fact... and there never would. This was what they were, and there was no sense in questioning it as some did, as Vicente once had his own Dark Gift. They had everything they needed. It was really as simple as that.

"To absent friends...", Lucien spoke again over the hushed silence, his voice a murmur as they hung to each word. All around the quarters these words were repeated by the others in a range of voices, be it higher, lower, rasping or growling. His eyes flickered over Antoinetta's, holding her for the briefest of times before he concluded. "And to new beginnings. _All _hail our Dread Father".

"_To new beginnings!_", The Cheydinhal Family repeated as one in his wake, and at this, Lucien turned back down to Vicente, clanked his glass against the Vampire's and drank from it heavily, and all the others followed suit at once amongst one another with this gesture. "_All hail our Dread Father!_ _Hail Sithis!_"

The powerful, warm honeyed taste again seeped down his throat and quickened his heartbeat as the others either sipped or outright chugged from their drinks, doing little to enjoy the effect it held. Gogron was, unsurprisingly, one of these, and released a mighty belch in the name of the Brotherhood. Telaendril did not swat the unapologetic Orc, herself having drunk heavily from the mug of whiskey in her hand, while Antoinetta Marie had delicately savoured her wine. All around the tables, those who had not already stopped drinking, were on their way to doing so. Vicente had perhaps taken the smallest of sips, for there was no difference truly visible in the contents of his glass, yet, still watching his Speaker closely, he wiped the drying blood tears away with the napkin beneath his useless eating utensils. Lucien breathed silently, the sensation of the mead joining with the enticing aromas of the meals around them, and bringing a ravenous nature to his hunger that he restrained.

"Hail Sithis indeed, my children", The Speaker repeated their declaration with proud satisfaction, and his gloved hand gestured to the great feast as his other lowered the glass of mead back down beside his plate, heart quickening within his chest. "And now... without further ado, I present the grand feast we must thank Gogron and Vicente for. Dine well Brothers and Sisters."

Amidst a swirling of noise that broke out following his words, including claps, murmurs of assent and other voices thanking the pleased Orc and Vampire, the Cheydinhal family did as their Speaker bid, and he lowered himself comfortably back down into his own seat, reaching for his utensils. Ocheeva patted him on the shoulder gratefully, and he cast a sideways smile to her and leaned closer so she could speak to him.

"You speak in a way no other can, dear Lucien", She rasped, stroking her lips, the tears no longer present in her eyes in the slightest. "Thank you for those lovely words".

"And thank you for the gracious invitation, dearest Mistress", Lucien replied just as courteously, and she drew back to allow him to eat, herself raising a fork.

Conversations stretched up and down the tables, and the Speaker tuned into some of them now and again, but for the most part focused upon the sounds of his own table. He ate as he had not done at Fort Farragut, enjoying at last the aromas that had plagued him since his arrival. Although the separate foods created by the separate brothers, as ever, held familiar drawbacks... they were not so apparent as they usually were. For the most part, Lucien fed off the energy and liveliness pouring throughout the family, and, when he was about halfway done his meal, he paused, lowering his silverware and watching the others. Antoinetta had feasted upon much of her food already, but, unlike Gogron who was using his bare hands with everything, used the proper utensils. She ate with a manner of civility... a civility she likely wasn't used to, and wished to become better acquainted with, never having been give the option before now of doing so. She spoke to her older sister again excitedly, recounting a story, but it was lost to him and others amongst the other more dominant voices. Gogron was again laughing, eating with his mouth open and nearly shouting to Mraaj Dar as they spoke, who looked as though he wished to take the candles of the table and pour their wax into either ear. Lucien was surprised that apart from Vicente, the Khajiit ate the least, but nevertheless, seemed to be satisfied with the meal, and he spoke up to Gogron now and again. At his side, the Vampire was discussing one of Teinaava's contracts with him, and the pair would break out into chuckles here and there. Lucien resumed his meal, chatting comfortably with the Sanctuary's Mistress, until Gogron's booming voice addressed the entire Cheydinhal Family, his mouth caked in potatoes and gravy. He was reaching for thirds already, and at his feet under the table, his giant pet rat had made it's way over to the din of noise, and was chewing hungrily upon the abundance of food that spilled off his plate and on to the floor.

"Now that you're all eating his so called meal... do you all finally agree mine is better then Vicente's?", The Orc boomed, casting a gloating look down at his Vampire rival, who lowered his tall glass wearily, shaking his head.

"Gogron, it's _not _a competition! How many time's have I had to say it?", Telaendril asked him in nearly a hiss, lowering a half eaten ear of corn from herself tiredly.

"It'll never be enough times", Teinaava muttered to the round table, earning a matching razor sharp grin from his twin sister sitting opposite him. "The whole business needs to be done with I say."

"The hell it isn't a competition!", Gogron announced loudly to the room, peering around at them all earnestly. "Now that you're all here, I want a vote! I bet I got Mraaj Dar's! The bad ol' kitty cat enjoys his mutton!"

At this, without warning, Gogron threw his arm around the displeased Khajiit, whose eyes widened for the first time as he was nearly crushed again Gogron's plate armour, clearly struggling to escape, as laughter rang up and down the tables. At last, Mraaj Dar finally escaped the powerful hold, and, looking more annoyed, adjusted his robes, and again folded his arms.

"You just lost my vote", Mraaj Dar muttered under his breath bitterly. "If you even had it to begin with, filthy giant green ape".

"No name calling at the dinner table, Mraaj Dar", Vicente's amused voice rose up to address him, nevertheless looking pleased with the comment the brotherly embrace had drawn from him, and he raised his glass to the Khajiit. "You too could use a few lessons on etiquette. I really should consider starting my own offshoot of the Dark Brotherhood... one that addresses these alarming concerns. I doubt the Night Mother would welcome such uncouth behaviour wherever she resides".

At this, Lucien, finding himself unable to resist, prodded the elder of the two on a particular related topic.

"You do remember what happened the last time a Vampire brother created his own little sub faction, my dear Vicente?", The Speaker asked, a dark eyebrow rising inquisitively, and at this, knowledge dawned visibly in the Vampire's features in regards to the rise and fall of the faction each had been present for during it's brief rise... and subsequent mutilation. "I daresay we do not need a repeat of the little... incident, such as that one to risk occurring again. Not that you have ever possessed the delusions... the so called visions to use his words, of the _fool _Blenwyth, of course".

Vicente released a morbid chuckle that Lucien joined in on at once, and the twin Shadowscales beside them, not having heard the entirety of that tale, watched the older pair with visible curiosity, and the Vampire sipped from his glass. Down the tables, Gogron was again talking about how utterly wonderful his dinners were compared to Vicente's to a nearly exhausted Telaendril, and Mraaj Dar had withdrawn into himself moodily, focusing a little more on his large plate of mutton and salad then the going ons occurring around him. Antoinetta alone seemed to be apart from them, for Lucien could tell she was doing her best to overhear the point her Speaker had brought up, and, as Vicente had been, he too found himself impressed with her innate curiosity.

"Ahh yes... I almost still feel sorry for old Greywyn... or I would, had he not done what he did", Vicente reminisced, thin lip smirking slightly and shaking his head. It was Lucien's turn to drink from his own glass, and he savoured the mead again leisurely. "But I assure you, a sub faction based solely on social etiquette would not go so horribly wrong as his little 'Crimson Scars' fiasco did."

"What _was _that whole thing about even?", Teinaava spoke up for himself and his sister, taking the Speaker and Executioner from their thoughts on the matter, their attention moving to the Argonian. "I've heard bits and pieces about it, you know, Vampires and whatnot... but not everything".

"Dear me, I thought I'd told you and your sister ages ago", Vicente laughed, resting his pale, long fingered hands down to either side of his plate, exchanging a knowing look with Lucien. "Time slips as one grows older... even for my own kind. The whole thing has been done with for quite awhile now...".

"Go on anyways, dear Vicente", Ocheeva intersected in turn, her scarlet eyes a little wider with evident interest, and she too stopped eating, her focus increasing upon him. "Don't stop now that you've hooked us... there is nothing worse then that".

"I wouldn't dream of it my dear... Lucien, would you care for the honours of telling it?".

"Not at all, dear Brother", The Speaker replied modestly, ushering him to continue. "I recall listening to quite a few of your stories... you have a knack for telling it in a way I do not. By all means, go on. And do speak up... inquisitive eyes and ears are watching us from ahead".

"Oh very well... I don't believe I told her yet of it either. It's not a very long story, so I shan't draw it out for the whole evening", The Vampire answered with clear relish, pleased to have also spotted young Antoinetta watching them and listening in with interest, his ghostly hands intertwining as he fell backwards through the years and selected the incident from the library of others he had lived through. His onlookers watched on avidly, save Lucien, who entirely relaxed, listened with a faint smirk.

"Well now... this occurred... what was it Lucien... a decade, no, _eleven _years ago now, over the course of several months. The Cyrodiil Brotherhood experienced... an incident of sorts they had not been expecting. I believe you two were still out in Black Marsh at the time. It all started with a loyal Vampire brother, an Altmer by the name of Greywyn Blenwyth... a fledgling who had a mere several years prior contracted his condition. He was an exceptional Assassin... so beautifully cruel, cunning and ambitious... prior to his Vampirism, he became a legend in his exploits, particularly when he murdered a well connected and dangerous bandit leader, despite the entire army protecting him, literally driving right through the protectors in a hail of reckless and glorious death and coming through it all unscathed. It was only a matter of time, I think, before he reached the upper echelons of the Dark Brotherhood. However, on another mission not too long afterwards, to the Aelid ruins of Fanacas, not far from here... he encountered it's Vampire occupants, and, despite his extensive skills was bitten... but nevertheless slayed each of them in turn. In his... unfortunate pride, he had not brought along a cure for his ailments... and, along with the fact that the bloodline he encountered is known for it's rather quick transformation process, became a Vampire before he had even reached his Sanctuary again for treatment."

"He did not resist this change, nor descend into the particular form of insanity a great many newborn Vampires have found... and embraced it in a manner that I have long admired... in any event, I remember he came to me for advice in this matter, and I offered freely of myself what the century's had taught me... but the longer I spent with him, the more he seemed... troubled, in a deeply profound manner I could not quite place. I could simply feel it, and it did not feel at all right. The Dark Gift had blessed his already capable skills, and he became truly formidable... yet still blinded by the arrogance in his youth that he could not, even in death, escape. By all means, he could have been something different... and indeed, I wish he had become a walker of the night in the manner I have achieved... but sadly it was not to be. He was no Lucien Lachance. One day, he beheld an idea you see... and he set it in to motion with all the blind haste and passion that was apart of him. He sought to create a sub-faction within the Dark Brotherhood, another arm, if you will, comprised of the many Vampires devoted to Sithis's service across Cyrodiil. At this time, the Black Hand, indeed, the entirety of the Brotherhood, thought it to be a tolerable idea... and it was permitted to take root. Thus, the Crimson Scars came into existence, and they performed many contracts at our side. I myself recall being asked by Greywyn to join his new organization... however, I was, as I still am, quite comfortable in the position I am in. I saw no reason to join these new hot headed young upstarts who lacked the experience and knowledge to keep our Brotherhood a single entity, as it must always be. Alas... if I had only joined them, I could have perhaps steered him down a better path, or have been the one to stop them before they went too far... ah but there is no sense in dwelling too much on that, another performed the exact same deed... eventually".

"You are, with the exception of Lucien here, each wondering what it is I speak of... well, you see Greywyn, as each of us have at some time or another, heard Sithis speaking to him... and, in Greywyn's mind, he believed Sithis had told him to seize control of the Brotherhood, and to purge it of all it's non Vampires, and destroy the Black Hand. This was, as it turned out, the reason for the creation of the Crimson Scars... though many of my Vampire kin did not even know of it. However, Greywyn, although young, possessed quite a sway over the minds of others, and most of them went along with his idea... his insidiously distasteful and traitorous idea. So, behind the scenes, this plan was being implemented, and the Crimson Scars began to play an even larger role amidst the Brotherhood... the Black Hand, of course, in their vigilance became uncomfortable with the unknown aims of this new sub faction... and as such, began to actively investigate Greywyn's intentions."

"The Vampire was extraordinarily good at covering his tracks, and as such, nothing came of it... but nevertheless, they kept searching. Eventually, not too long before the linchpin of the plan was to be acted out, in which the Brotherhood was to be rended to pieces and stolen by this usurper... a truly faithful brother, a Vampire by the name of Silarian... I always did like him, who had joined the Scars, maintained loyalty to his true family, and had, since the start, been waiting for the proof he needed to crush Greywyn and his conspiracy... and with them, the attempted rebellion. Silarian brought Greywyn's plans to the Black Hand when they were revealed to him, and this needed information was acted upon that very night."

"And so, in each Sanctuary across Cyrodiil, the Silencers leading groups of faithful Assassin's armed with silvered weaponry, with each of the four Speakers overlooking, came to the Sanctuary's in force, and as they slept killed the members of the Crimson Scars in one fell swoop. The quick response from the Black Hand had assured the Brotherhood was saved... but Greywyn, who the Hand had sought foremost, managed to make his escape and go into hiding in one of his lairs he had used when he was younger, that of Deepscorn Hollow on the edge of the Imperial and Argonian borders. His lair remained undetected for a stretch of over two months... and during this time, Greywyn descended ever deeper into the insanity that had claimed him. He actively hunted his former Brothers and Sisters, in his mind, to satisfy Sithis, as he waited for the survivors of the failed purge to rejoin him... needless to say, they did _not_."

"The fanatics who had served Greywyn were killed off messily, while only a few of the others, the truly ignorant, were spared, vowing never again to be tricked as they were. Eventually, agents of the Black Hand, who had been keeping constant vigilance over his attacks, managed to find a link between where he struck, and his current whereabouts. All through the time since the failed uprising, Greywyn did not receive another vision... until the very night the agents of the Black Hand discovered his location. This vision, he believed, revealed Sithis's disappointment in him, that he had been wrong in his convictions of our Dread Father's will... that he was merely to kill his victims, and not drink the blood it's self. Sithis had not wished an uprising. As such, out of atonement, he sought out the necessary ingredients for the curing of his affliction, and not only found them, but was returned to his mortality. Needless to say... this did _not_ appease the Black Hand any more then it did Sithis... and on that very night, following a rather _protracted _interrogation... the Hand struck it's final decapitating blow, having discovered his Hollow."

"Greywyn was at last killed in the name of Sithis, of the Night Mother he had wronged, and his soul now resides within the Void, beside the Master he had misinterpreted and wronged. As to whether our Dread Father has forgiven him, I do not know. Both His mercy and terrible fury knows no boundary's. Greywyn alone knows the answer to that question. So, the conspiracy and threat to the Brotherhood had been dissolved... the Black Hand had honoured our Mother, and Silarian was commended for his devout loyalty to the family. I told you it was not a long story my children... yet, it was an important occurrence, one that warned us of the importance of vigilance, and one we should never forget... lest it come back to haunt us with the spectre of the past".

Now, Vicente drew back from his stories conclusion, and, taking the bottle close at hand, poured another glass of fresh blood before rising it again to his colourless lips. His onlookers, which now included not only Antoinetta, but even Mraaj Dar, who had actually listened since the start, sat in stock silence, the story being mulled over by nearly all. Only Gogron and Telaendril did not listen in the midst of their arguments, but out of respect for their brethren, had quieted their voices to a small degree. Lucien, resting comfortably in his seat watched with veiled eyes the others who had taken the tale to heart. Antoinetta peered on in utter fascination, Ocheeva and Teinaava with satisfaction at the betrayers demise. Unsurprisingly, Mraaj Dar was the least visually effected, but nevertheless, seemed to be considering it. Vicente, still savouring the contents of his glass, glanced up to find a sea of eyes watching him, and, pleased with the reaction he had induced, lowered his glass and addressed the topic again, leaning back comfortably.

"Well now, I'm glad you all liked it... it is indeed one of the more interesting stories I hold on to", He informed them, and his scarlet eyes met Lucien's hazel ones knowingly, both of the pairs quite relaxed. "Lucien, have you anything you wish to add to the story that I have not yet? I daresay I only spoke of my own thoughts."

Again there was the swivelling of attention, and the spotlight was shone upon their Speaker, who held all the answers, and spoke of them so rarely. They wanted to know of his part in the matter... whether or not he'd been in the midst of it, what role he may or may not have played, he could see as much gazing back from all sides, particularly in the form of the radiant Antoinetta. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. It would not do to address his own part... for it had been Vicente's story. Now and again, ambiguity made for a more satisfying conclusion, and this one was no exception. Let them make up their own minds... it was not for him to dictate this particular thing.

"_No_, my dear Vicente", Lucien's low voice announced after a long moment, and his smile deepened when the pair of Shadowscales groaned together in disappointment, causing Vicente to chuckle heartily. "Simply that Greywyn, as well as all others who betray the Brotherhood, will always meet their much deserved end. Whether he heard Sithis truly or not, the Black Hand most certainly _did_. And they acted. It is really as easy to grasp as that".

"Here here Brother", Vicente replied knowingly, raising his glass to Lucien's, and the pair clanked together again, both taking another small drink. "The perfect bookend to my story, might I add?".

"A perfect bookend to a perfect story, Vicente", Lucien answered quietly in kind, setting aside his drink again, and his hands intertwined together. "You have also placed a thought into my mind... as to why we have never established a permanent Sanctuary, perhaps even a way-station at least, within the Deepscorn Hollow... I shall have to remember that".

In spite of the clear wishes to do so, the Brothers and Sisters who had listened, resisted the urge to ask the avalanche of questions circulating throughout them, instead heeding their Speaker's decision with a loyalty he had always loved, and they each seemed to go off into their respective corners for several minutes to mull over the lesson. Lucien took the opportunity to finish the remainder of his meal, all the while indulging in another conversation with the Vampire, pausing between mouthfuls, and before long, his stomach had been properly contented. It was at the conclusion of this particular conversation that Gogron's booming voice again carried down in Lucien's direction, and his hooded head turned to meet the Orc's happy gaze.

"What do you think, Lucien?", Gogron nearly shouted, at last, after fifths, his own hunger had very nearly abated... the large rat laying at his feet long ago full. "My meals, or Vicente's meals? Your opinion is the most important one here, let's settle this permanently!"

Giving up at last with trying, Telaendril shook her head, and, along with the others peered over to their Speaker, awaiting his answer. Lucien stalled for as long as was possible, but knew he would have to reach a decision.. and thus, thinking quickly, took the most tactful way out, causing Antoinetta to suddenly burst into ringing laughter, to his surprise, yet pleasure, and many of the others to subsequently follow suit.

"I like them both, dear brother... they... uh, compliment one another... isn't that a good enough answer for you?", Lucien answered at last, an unmistakable smirk rising to his features.

The laughter rang throughout the Sanctuary, and based upon the look on the Orc's face, the answer he'd been waiting so long for had done absolutely nothing to solve his problem. He waited as patiently as possible for the laughter to die down around him, before he opened his large mouth again to speak... thankfully, however, Telaendril, far quicker then the rest of them, beat him to it in the hopes of having finally found the key to the Sanctuary's cooking problem.

"Pardon me, dearest Gogron", Telaendril began politely, holding up a hand, and the Orc subsided at last begrudgingly. Her green eyes danced as they moved over to the sister at her side, and it was to she the Bosmer motioned. "But I believe Antoinetta was about to say something, if it's no bother."

"Naw", Muttered Gogron, smiling over to his newest sister. Unbeknown to him, she had made to speak, only to be interrupted several times prior, and his eyes apologized for himself. "Go on Little Sister, I'm all ears... and speak up! Don't be afraid to interrupt me when you need to!".

For the first time since his arrival, perhaps it had been Vicente's story, or the encouragement of her brethren, Antoinetta had the courage to speak her mind in the presence of Lucien... something as it turned out he welcomed entirely.

"Thank you Gogron", Antoinetta replied with a smile his way, her voice a little faint yet clear nevertheless. "I was just going to say... well, I'm something of a cook myself you know... it's just one of the things you have to learn out there if you want to survive. A necessity".

"She most _certainly _is", Telaendril spoke next for her, after Antoinetta's small announcement subsided into her own shy silence, uncertain where to go on from there. "Don't be afraid dear sister, tell them your story, just as you told me. Antoinetta spoke to me of an Aunt she murdered none too long ago".

Antoinetta blushed again furiously at the idea of speaking of it to so many onlookers, glancing about at the interested faces that looked to her, and mumbled nervously in response, yet Lucien catching every word, his own interest captured abruptly, even knowing much of it already from Ungolim's detailed letter.

"Not now Telaendril...", The Breton girl murmured uncertainly, glancing about at the inquisitive expressions presented to her, save Mraaj Dar, who watched her with clear scepticism "I mean... it's _not_ really anything special... especially compared to how many you each have already killed... in ways far more imaginative and glorious to be sure."

"Oh come now dear child", Vicente spoke up first on behalf of the Cheydinhal Family's general consensus. "You mustn't sell your achievements short as you do... what matters is the kill, not entirely the method it has be performed in... that is but extra, and I know Sithis would be pleased to hear again this account of suffering you delivered for Him".

"Come on Antoinetta", Teinaava also attempted to encourage the reluctant girl, as the others, with the exceptions of Lucien and Mraaj Dar, burst into other scattered, tender hearted attempts to prod her into speaking again. "We are your family... there is nothing to fear with us... we speak of our murders all the time... what more is another?".

"I... I don't-

"_I _for one...", Lucien Lachance's distinct voice finally cut comfortably across the Quarters, bringing about silence and complete focus, Antoinetta's wide eyed gaze shooting back over to him. The Speaker peered back at the young, flushed woman, his eyes kindly yet intent as his words. "...would whole heartedly welcome the opportunity to hear the entire story, dearest child, if you might indulge me".

His words of request were quiet, sympathetic and simple, yet from the moment they were uttered, the outcome was inevitable, and they effected Antoinetta in a way even kindly Vicente's had not been able. The others gave her the time she needed to collect herself and draw the story into audible form. For the most part through the story, her glances would touch the occasional face of the brothers and sister at her own table, scarcely able, in her shyness, to gaze upon the furthest table, where too, all watched on with full interest in the matter. Plates were politely ignored, and glasses went untouched through the whole story... even, surprisingly, from Gogron.

"Well... it's nothing much really", Antoinetta Marie finally spoke again, shaking her hooded head slightly. "... but I suppose I can say a few things about it. I'm sorry if it is not what you were expecting... I have scarcely spoken of it."

"Do not worry, dear sister", Telaendril encouraged warmly from her side, still smiling. "I already know they will enjoy it as I did... take your time this time around... let it come to you"

"Ok...", Antoinetta breathed, finding more courage and clutching to it, her accented voice rising to accommodate all. It was the voice of an uncertain child, but one who was giving her all to be far more then that, and Lucien appreciated and understood her effort. "I-I had better set up the explanation even better then I did for Telaendril, so you all can understand properly what it was like."

"Well... it was, you see... she died no more then a couple weeks ago, out in the Imperial City. I'd... just finished serving my latest sentence there about three months ago... theft. Right, theft... I just wanted a bloody thing to eat, to live, and they pick on me, a scruffy little girl who could not fight back instead of going after that Thieves Guild out on the Waterfront. I was glad to be out... to say the very least. This Emperor Uriel Septim character might be regarded by the masses as kind hearted and just... his voice as gentle and powerful as his manner, but his prison guards do not share the same welcome quality's.. as I'm sure you can all imagine."

There were murmurs of sympathetic assent, each of which encouraged her to keep going, Gogron rapping his knuckles on the table in his agreement. By now, in her explanations, her voice grew quite deadened, holding within it a loathing that reached to her lowest depths.

"That prison is a rotting, dank dungeon... one that belongs in the darkest of ages from times passed, not this one... worse even then the food almost non existent as it is putrid, and the screaming and cruel, pig-like comments from the other inmates no better. Each of these things unified created a pool of despair from which I am surprised people actually manage to emerge. It was only a four month sentence... hardly anything compared to others I've had to serve... but the length made no difference in the suffering involved. Boy were they happy to see me in there again... a few of them even told me as much. Time never seems to pass within that place, and I don't know how I survived it again. The monotonous pattern of the days within that cell... sleeping, if it were even possible... a so called breakfast, waiting for time to pass... until my nightly 'meal', of food not even the rats would wish to consume. Waiting each day for a... a random visit from the guards. And then the cycle repeated it's self... there were many others there... but all the while a single bastard Night Elf got it in his empty head that he should taunt me where the others were mercifully quiet... the cruelty he inflicted upon me seemingly keeping him alive, keeping him from succumbing to the ravages his own despairs a decade buried away in the cage had brought to him. It seemed his personal duty to drive me into the outer reaches of insanity... so he might gaze upon one worse off then he."

"The only thing within that place that gave me the strength to continue, the only thing that I could draw any form of pleasure from, were the genuine smiles brought to me, and warmth that flitted into my heart each time the guards paid their own little night time 'visit', to him... can't remember his name, though it hardly matters. I wasn't usually in much a condition to listen, much less care. His pathetic agonized screams as they beat him gave me the best dreams I have ever had until coming to this place. I laughed at him after they left, most times, when he was too injured to form a response upon that usually sharpened tongue of his... just as he did to me. I did survive it all though... I am not sure how, but I did, they could not break me as they had so hoped to accomplish and, after a few of my own carefully selected words to that Elf before my departure, I was released out into the streets with some useless warnings from the fascist guards, to find for the first time, at least one person was waiting for me on the outside. My Aunt. She'd not visited me through any of my sentences, be it in the Imperial city or any other city I've been in. It was this that should have tipped me off, and I'd not seen her in years, as it was, and I walked right past, intending to go somewhere, anywhere but the same district as the prison... until she called back to me, and told me, with that little smile on her ageing haughty face, who she was. That she intended to bring me home with her, and take care of me. That she would make me well again. Ah, how I could ever listen to such childish lies... but I did. I haven't a clue how I could have been fooled when it should have been so obvious what was to come... but perhaps I deserved what I got... a lesson, one that she herself received in turn".

Antoinetta paused again amidst a grim, foreboding silence... and Lucien did not take his eyes away from her, as some of the others did, shaking their heads at her summary of the horrors she had been forced to endure. Vicente's almost non existent lips somehow thinned further, and he looked utterly drained, in spite of the blood he had drunk, and Telaendril was visablly shocked, not having heard this particular part in the prior recollection.

"I was... I was so stupid. I actually believed her, after everything I'd seen, after everything I'd done... and I hugged her. I haven't a clue why. I'd never had cause to give such affection. I think I cried even... and the thought of that shames me more then even hugging that witch. How much it must have tickled her. That sense of power she held as I thanked her. What else had I expected to receive then what she was to do to me? Had I expected somehow that she had loved me? _Her_? That in her heart she had always the kind of love only an aunt can possess? She hadn't given a single damn about me in the few time's I'd seen her before going in and out of prisons... didn't care for me when I was a girl in need of care... but she had money, and lies that I swallowed to appease my own fears of the sicknesses and despairs I had picked up in my travels. You see, I moved in with her, into the Talos District, that very night... and she continued to treat me with the same manner of kindness... at least for a little while, to keep up appearances you see until she was ready. I thought during that first little while, I had finally been accepted, that there would be no further cause to suffer... and I was wrong. At least about her."

"You see, my aunt was interested in my _being_ alright... my _becoming _a servant to her. My taking care of her as she grew older. She had earned the right to a relaxed life, she told me... and I, a snot nosed brat who had never grown up, was to help provide it. Still, she was stronger then I... but then what could be expected from my malnourished state? The food she gave me there was hardly better then that of the prison, and she kept the decent food for herself. She kept me locked up in the attic, until she had need of me... keeping me alive only to serve herself, to bring her her meals, to listen to her rantings most of which aimed at me in some way, not only about me, but about the rest of my family, to go outside and tend to the garden she wanted kept so well out of spite for her neighbours Her garden mattered more to her then anything else. She did not even speak of me to them, the neighbours, and this perhaps as it turned out was a blessing... she scarcely even addressed the neighbours A few of them saw me... but cared not and didn't even take a second glance, perhaps assuming me to be mere hired help. A willing servant, and they went about throwing their little parties almost every night not caring what may or may not have been taking place across the street."

"She knew, even then, that evil insidious little bitch, that I would not run away any more then I would ask one of those despicable guards for help. They all knew my face. She knew she was the only thing I had, and that it was either continue to put up with her demands, or to run away... to go back to the so called life I'd had before she came lurking around. She was right... I didn't leave, not then. She continued to insult my family... and the fact I never ended up as well off as she, and I bowed to her demands... my lividness all the while surmounting in the form of a... a kind of cloud that draped it's self around my mind. I had not left one prison to enter another... particularly run by one claiming to be my only hope."

"I... I fed books to my anger, one I'd felt before even she came along again, the one true freedom she had given me... she let me read from the small library she had there, whatever I liked... I suppose it made her feel like a merciful goddess of sorts, taking a small measure of pity upon me... and it fuelled her unrivalled egomaniac nature. I read... up in the attic, I read story's of history, the past wars and forming of the empires... I read fictional stories... and I read about gardening, books that showed me not only descriptions of particular alchemical ingredients and flowers... but what they looked like. I read furiously, I read until my mind bled as I never had before, and I remembered everything. I do not know how else I could have put up with that woman as long as I did... I suppose it was the knowledge I received there that was the only thing I can look back upon with pride... well, that and her death. You see... in spite of this new found focus I had... this new drive to learn that I had not possessed before... I felt... I felt something I had felt many times before... only it was more clear then ever. A... a presence of sorts".

"Perhaps... perhaps it was Sithis, His beautiful voice whispering in my ear, as you each have spoken of... for it called unto me, and it resolved my uncertainty.. and brought about the end of the festering state I was trapped in. I knew I would never be free of her, not unless she died... but it... it wasn't my freedom that I cared much for any longer. How many times before she, a rudimentary, useless thing, had others hurt me in more ways then one? How many cruel faces had I encountered, not only there in the Imperial City... but since my very birth? You see... she was not the first person I've even killed... but she was most certainly the most pleasurable. The only one that's mattered to me thus far. The idea it's self remained with me for quite some time, even as this Evening Star was approaching... knives and weapons were out of the question, for she kept none... and I had not the strength to use them in the fashion I wished. There was also the fact that I was locked up most of the time... I'm sure, in hindsight, I could have come up with another way by myself, perhaps pushing her from the stairs... but it was not this that occurred to me. I wanted something as exquisitely painful as possible... and such violent acts were not enough. In fact, I rather don't know who or what it was that gave me the idea... Sithis... or my own hatred."

"It was both, I guess, for they are the same thing. Regardless, just over two weeks ago I stood out amidst her garden... which too had provided me a sense of serenity... for each time I entered it, I was not only away from her... but the suffocating interior that was her home. I tended to the flowers and plants there, watered them... before the approaching snow falls... and while it was so very cold, it purged my mind of the rage inducing haze that was occupying it... giving me a calm clarity the likes of which was impossible inside the house. My mind was my own... and I revelled in it. As I finished watering the majority of the plants... my eyes could not help but linger upon a particular one longer then the others. I had seen it in the books, the books regarding the alchemical ingredients... I... I can't remember it's name, it was there a few moments ago, now it's not. It had tiny black berrys on the stem... it's leaves a dark green of sorts, betraying, if only to those who knew as I did... the poison inside it. It was larger then it had appeared in the book, more vibrant and fresh. That name... it's so close, and yet so distant. It's beautiful... I think there are a few of them actually, but...-"

"_Atropa belladonna_", Mraaj Dar, of all the others, provided, breaking through the stunned silence she had left behind as she considered it, his growling voice low... yet not unpleasant. His look of distaste that he had held for her since the start of her story was, miraculously, fading from existence, and he peered back at her as if having seen her for the first time... somewhat blankly, yet with rapt attention. The others, save Lucien, glanced over in his direction, clearly surprised, yet dared not interrupt him.

"Deadly Nightshade... or Death Cherries if one is referring only to the berries you saw. They serve a vital role in the Black Sacrament... the manner in which the Night Mother is called upon to bring her children. From the sounds of your description, as you were also tending to them for a matter of months, I assume they were entirely fresh... and therefore... _quite _potent in their toxicity level."

"Yes", Antoinetta replied, herself startled by the Khajiit's distinct lack of unkindness he had been conveying to her in filling in the blank. There was a faint interest in his eyes towards the outcome of the story, that he was attempting to cover up, and failing miserably. The others glanced at one another in shock, again daring not to speak of this breakthrough aloud, lest it be shattered... and they waited for Antoinetta to continue. "That was what it was... thank you, Brother".

Mraaj Dar gave no reply, but, as with the others, continued to maintain undivided attention to the story that had affected him into speech. The unspoken atmosphere held a sense of foreboding, as each of the Brothers and Sisters who had not yet heard the story considered the welcome outcome of such a poisonous plant being used. Now, there was no longer fear or trepidation in Antoinetta's voice... she spoke with a mad furor that steadily increased, and warmed the Speaker immesurablly, his smile widening. He was at last seeing the talkative young woman Ocheeva had described.

"I do not know if even she knew it was growing there... for her knowledge was quite more limited then my own, in her decadence and reliance upon me. She may have had a wonderful garden there, but she knew so little about it, about the true workings and quality's of the plants. I have heard it can grow quite randomly in certain places. It is such a beautiful plant... so very different then the others, right down to it's lovely name that rolls so well off the tongue. I knelt there in the dirt to examine it... and I thought to myself the delicious possibility's it held, that I had not considered prior. That crystal clear and icy clarity took an ever more powerful hold over me again... and I knew what had to be done. I would have to go out into the gardens at least twice a day... once after Breakfast, another before supper... and you can guess who prepared the meals. That night... after I was to tend to the garden, my dearest Auntie craved a bowl of stew for supper. I had all the required ingredients right there in the garden, aside from the meat in the kitchen... and I took them each there. Fresh carrots, corn on the cob so golden it could be mistaken for it... potato's, parsley, onions... simmered in it's broth amidst salt and pepper... and I mean, with all those ingredients, all the time put into it... how would she notice a few unexpected, unique additions courtesy of her eternally grateful and loving niece?"

"A dozen crushed up Death Cherries found their way into the broth, accompanied by some shredded leaves, easily mistaken for the usual spices, and some ground up roots... the wellspring from which the poison is drawn, for good measure. There, in the kitchen, I finished my death inducing brew... and my heart glowed with an energy I found only foreboding suffering could bring. I crossed my fingers the effect would not be instantaneous... and I was not disappointed in the end. So, with pleasure for the _first_ time since I arrived, I set the table for what was to be the _last_ time. She came in with her usual tiresome complaints, something I heard all the way from her kitchen... but I _listened _to not one of them. The poor woman's social status, always finding it's way into her one sided conversations instead of what she should be doing about the already dying girl who had been her slave, who was gradually festering. At last, it was time... time to relinquish the shackles she had seen fit to tie around my arms and legs. Time to break free of them as I should have done the day she set them on me, and send her screaming to whichever fiery hell had spawned her!"

"I brought in the stew, settling it down before her, and I took my seat at the table. The only reason she allowed me to do so, of course, was so she could spout her complaints, her gossip, to seemingly attentive ears. Ah... such naivete... usually expected from one my own age, not one such as herself. She took several spoonfuls of the concoction... and another several before the first of the effects came to her, forcing her to stop. I can imagine the venom swirling through her rotten knotted veins, her stinking gullet and bringing to her their welcome effect she had more then earned. I savoured each symptom the books had warned me about, all the while watching, and never leaving my seat. I sat perfectly upright, I believe, with an innocent smile on my face... the perfect expression for the deed. She did not understand me, and never had. She had used me... and now I would use her for my own little interests. Ones that she, in her lack of foresight, despite knowing my history, had been too stupid to anticipate."

"I remember it all in it's entirety, and shall always enjoy the moments it occurred in... for I see them not only now, but in my dreams. Her pupils began to dilate... and the candlelight bothered her... she stopped eating abruptly, complaining of the light. Next went her vision... hazy she said, could only make out vague shapes... by now, she had adequate cause to fear for her well being. I could hear it in her voice... dripping from each word, and I lapped it up, remaining silent. A headache subsequently followed as the venom continued it's grand journey, and the pain became as noticeable as her fear. Her face broke out in a hideous rash, and she began to retch, the few words that managed to break through now slurred and uneven like a drunk... but I got the just of them. At last, she had realized what I had done, and by now, there was no saving herself. She didn't even have an antidote in the house to begin with. Really, I'm impressed she caught on as quickly as she did... here I had been thinking she wouldn't know what hit her. Her symptoms began to overcome her, to rise up into her mind. She suffered hallucinations, she lapsed into and suffered feverish delirium as she witnessed things that I could not see unfolding as if before her very eyes."

"She spoke in length of my mother, of my father... she spoke of many things that she had not spoke of at any time prior... of regrets, perhaps rooted somewhere in the depths of her now ravaged state. She apologized to me, apologized to a great many people I'd never met, the one's she had wronged, but I said not a word. She begged forgiveness as death loomed before her, that she had only been trying to help me, to teach me what it was like to live a thrown away life. To show me that I had been far too foolish in steadily squandering my youth... that she alone of my family had been trying to save me, had been planning to end my servitude as soon as my lesson had been learned, to turn over the entirety of her fortune to me or some other such nonsense she was garbling by then. I held no forgiveness in my heart as she spouted these despicable lies expecting me to take them as I had her first, I'd never had a chance or a choice from the start, and this insufferable bitch knew not what suffering was until that moment when _I_ had at last brought it to _her_... so I let her hear only herself and whatever words the hallucinations were telling her. The whore died as she lived in my eyes: contemptible to the last."

"Really... the stages were each as beautiful as the one preceding it... but, as I begin to wrap my story up... I will tell you of the final stage of her death. The _thing _it's self. Succumbing at last to the poison, her dry throat no longer speaking in a gargle of no longer decipherable words, she pitched headfirst right into her bowl of stew with a rather comical thud and a subsequent splash."

At this, in a whirlwind of motion, Antoinetta pulled close a bowl of a clear soup she had been gingerly sipping from earlier, and with a sense of showmanship none of them had expected, submerged her face into it with a splash of her own, flapping her arms as though she were drowning. After a split second of utter shock at both tables, riotous laughter, the likes of which Gogron on his own could not produce, a kind that had not occurred amongst the Family in close to a year, erupted out through the Quarters, and Brothers and Sisters simply howled. Gogron was banging his fists on the table, tears streaming from his sunken face, just as Vicente was doing, his ancient face already stained in blood. At the Orc's feet, the rat squeaked frightfully and bolted away from the table as fast as it's little legs could carry it. Teinaava and Ocheeva were each doubled over in laughter, and even Mraaj Dar, for all his withheldness and bitter nature... was unable to repress a pleased chuckling that did not fade away for quite some time.

Gogron reached across the table as Antoinetta at last took her soaked, dribbling face from the nearly spilled bowl, miraculously, much of her hair untouched by the soup. The Orc slapped the massive palm of his hand against her own tiny one, still howling, as her own giggles joined in with the others. Telaendril at her side, laughing mercilessly, managed to find a clean cloth and pass it off to the young woman, who took it gratefully, wiping off her faintly bruised face as tears joined in with the soup. It took perhaps nearly ten minutes for the excitement to die down, all the while which, Lucien alone did not laugh. Not because he wasn't amused... far from it to be sure, but because he savoured the pleasure of the tale in his heart, his respect to the latest sister only doubling at her bravery, and as she demonstrated at last to herself that she was a true part of their family, not an outsider. Her vibrant eyes, for the moment free of the shyness she held in his presence, glowed as they settled on to his pleased ones, and gradually, the laughter died away with sighs, heavy breaths, and a great number of eyes being wiped.

"Goodness... didn't mean to get _that_into it all!", Antoinetta breathed, surveying them all again, and there were a few fresh chuckles, her bright eyes dancing innocently. "I don't know what it is about all you... but damn- ... oops, sorry... not very lady-like language of me... I want to continue!".

"Please do so", Vicente spoke up hopefully, ushering her with a pale hand, smiling quite delightedly not only at her story but her contradictory attempt at being cough, and there was agreement all around the room. "By Sithis... and you said this story would not be interesting. Take your time dear child, there is no hurry".

Antoinetta coughed a few times, still breathing excitedly, her breast rising and falling, until she, and the others, had entirely recovered themselves, relaxing, yet her expression remained widened with the joy she felt.

"Alright... there's not a great deal left to go, but I may as well close it up. The fun part was over... the bitch was dead... and I nearly danced about the room, but my insides hurt far too much for such an undertaking... though it would have been worth it I'm sure. I searched the home for valuables... but I guess, in a particular way... she had her own last laugh, damn her, wherever she now suffers in the Void. You see, my Aunt may have had money... but she clutched to it greedily, kept it all in her bank, I couldn't find a damn thing... and I knew I couldn't stay any longer... despite my urge to take her house. A house and a fortune I was entitled to. You see... she made a lot of noise in her final moments, and it would seem the neighbours had heard. The guards had been sent over to investigate the disturbance... and the only thing I managed to gather up before I snuck out the back, was a little food from the pantry, a tinder box and I'm loath to admit... nothing more."

"It was such a shame to leave all that stuff behind... the books that had helped me in particular, but really, the looming death that awaited me would be alright, in light of the pain I had returned to her. Her body face down in the stew had been worth it all. The Evening Star came that night... and I escaped into the alleys of the Imperial City... where I had spent a great deal of time before. Eventually, I discovered one spot the other homeless had not occupied already... and, surprisingly, none of the guards suspected me of the deed. Perhaps they would have... I do not know, but for that week, they did not. The snow came next... and the little food I had managed to bring soon ran out... and the hunger returned in it's crushing entirety, doubling the already indescribable pains of the illnesses. The cold no longer held the welcome it had kneeling in that garden amidst the Nightshade. The state of my being returned. I was a girl who had only achieved victory over an ageing woman... and I was again on my own. I tried to keep a fire going... but it simply would not remain... and continually died as the cold began to overtake me, as I was worn inexorably down."

"I don't know how I survived those days as the temperature plummeted... but I'd endured many of them before, so I tried... I tried so hard. There was something telling me not to give up, not until I was incapable of continuing... and I listened to it... I survived a week out there on the icy streets with my ailments... in that sewer from which foul rats came to me in the night, as they had in the prison... and that was it. I could continue no more... part of me began to accept death. I had stood up for myself against a tyrant who had sought to break me... I'd... I'd proven myself."

"I was dying... and closer to it, the end, then I'd ever been... and now it was over. All that waited was death... and it was for him I waited... a release from the pain of living, but it was not _he_ who came to me in that moment when all things seemed so utterly hopeless."

Antoinetta turned then in her story, the traces of sombreness that had cultivated vanishing entirely, and gazed with clear adoration upon the hooded man at the end of the table, who watched with a hint of a smile, tilting his head partially.

"It was _you_, dearest Speaker", she declared simply, her story concluding, and the vivacious mannered girl sighed, recovering herself from the output of energy she had unleashed throughout. "It was _you_... and _you _brought me here. And on a dead horse that rode like the wind, no less".

This sentiment caused another fresh wave of pleased laughter amongst them that the Speaker joined in with.

"You brought yourself, Antoinetta", Lucien contradicted her quietly, but was nevertheless appreciative. The Cheydinhal Family again erupted into applause at the conclusion of her story, and the Speaker clapped along politely, until they died down eventually, the young woman again flushing and now rising from her bench and bowing to them like an actor. "And your story has proven that indefinitely. I thank you for it. To speak of one's self requires a particular form of bravery unique amongst all the forms of it... and in doing so, you are truly embracing both us and yourself.".

There was another murmur of assent, and a comfortable silence settled it's self over them each, Mraaj Dar even looking more relaxed then ever, himself, although not having been clapping, faintly impressed to a visible degree. It was Gogron, of course, who eventually returned them to the topic that had sprouted Antoinetta's wonderful tale of murder. Cooking.

"Well you know, even if she poisons all our meals, at least it'll still be better then Vicente's", The Orc laughed, shaking his head and again glancing over to the Vampire. "You may be over three hundred years old, have a wealth of skills and knowledge... but even that cannot bring back your mortal taste for food, old man".

There was more laughter, during which Ocheeva refilled Lucien's glass for him, and the Imperial, thanking her, studied the less then pleased Vampire carefully.

"I seem to recall... in my youth, your cooking was precisely the same as it is now", The Speaker reminded him somewhat flatly, yet smiling again at the Breton, who looked mockingly aghast at this revelation. "Gogron's are not without flaws... but you must admit yours could be a little overpowering now and again... surely you've found there to be a recurring theme of this over the years".

"How _could _you Speaker?", Vicente asked with the same false shock, resisting a laugh of his own. Down the table Gogron was gloating at the Speakers apparent agreement. "To think how many meal's I've had to cook, all the effort I put into them! Now you side with him?"

"I side with neither of you in this matter... I must speak but the truth, dear Vicente... you have my sympathies, yet not the apologies of my taste-buds".

Vicente's grandfatherly twinkling scarlet eyes returned to a hopeful Antoinetta, and he seemed to consider her more closely, smiling again faintly. After a moment or two, he shrugged his shoulders and sighed as everyone watched with anticipation. A solution to the problem had been found... and although stubborn as Gogron, he was infinitely more realistic... and thus, finally agreed.

"Oh why not... we can give her the chance to cook for us one of these days", He announced calmly with a tired wave of his hands as he gave up. "She seems to have enough experience in any event. Perhaps then we can finally put an end to this whole thing once and for all."

There was assent around the room, and Telaendril encouragingly patted Antoinetta on the back, the pleased Breton beaming victoriously at the idea of returning to her cooking talents, at performing an important function within the Family. At last, after a matter of years, it seemed a particular obstical of debate amongst the Family had been resolved... and again, the Family descended in to scattered, lively conversations. Lucien's hunger returned, and he enjoyed another plate and a couple more glasses of Mead before he was forced to call it quits, and simply indulge the others in talking.  
>Time passed very quickly the remainder of that evening, and the hours seemed to blur right by, as they had not done for the Speaker since the week prior when he had met up with his fellow Finger. Eventually, several of the Brothers and Sisters would excuse themselves from the remnants of the feast and subsequent dessert, but not before uttering their thanks. Early in the morning, Mraaj Dar was the first to leave, and perhaps the most exhausted of them, despite having spoke the least. He bid everyone a good night, and made his way across the quarters to his bed, where he lay for a time reading a book before himself falling asleep. Gogron, for all the life in him, was too drained with the events of the evening, yet exhilarated, and, with a smile at them all, and one that lasted longer and burned brighter when touching Telaendril, he moved away from the table, hugging the beautiful Wood Elf lovingly from behind and nearly pulling her from her seat in the process, gruffly rubbing Antoinetta on the head as she cut herself a particularly delicious looking piece from a chocolate cake, with all the manner of a big brother, and he too made his way to the beds, only to find his bloated pet rat already curled up on the covers that belonged to him.<p>

Changing from his excess of armour, the clothed, muscular Orc pushed the bloated Schemer aside, and climbed into bed. Unlike Mraaj Dar who read for a time, Gogron was snoring the moment his head hit the pillow, to the Khajiit's great irritation, the noise waking him from his momentary slumber. Punching his pillow grumpily, he rolled over, wrapping it about his head in an effort to drown out the noise. At Telaendril's insistence, Antoinetta and herself were the next to rise from their seats. They had been whispering to one another for nearly a half an hour, and the Wood Elf seemed to be attempting to convince an uncertain Antoinetta to do something, the pair giggling now and again girlishly as Telaendril took a pair of the vibrant blonde locks of the Breton's hair into a gloved hand and examined them, nodding her head, and the two occasionally glanced back in Lucien's direction. In the depths of his own conversation, Lucien barely noticed any of this, but nevertheless noted it from the corner of his honed perceptions.

When they rose from the table, they each thanked Vicente for the feast, and Antoinetta thanked him for the opportunity for her to cook again, assuring him that he wouldn't regret it. Vicente felt the gratitude to be unnecessary, and smiled, nevertheless appreciating their refreshing show of etiquette. With a final flashing smile from the girl's Lucien's way, who inclined his head respectfully, they too departed the table, Antoinetta stealing glances back over her slender shoulder at him... to the point she nearly tripped and collided head first into a wall, had Telaendril not caught her. Rather then crossing the room to their beds, however, they departed the Living Quarters entirely, moving off to some other place within the Sanctuary, their still chatting conspiratorial silhouettes fading with their words down the corridor that had brought Lucien. When they had departed, Ocheeva and her brother began to clear off the tables of the remaining dishes and cutlery of the feast, taking a pair of brooms from one of the cabinets and sweeping up the mess left behind by the Orc, while the two most senior members of the family resumed their speech at Vicente's prompting.

"_So_, Lucien...", The elder of the two began quietly as the twin Shadowscales too spoke to one another as they worked. "For a Speaker, you did not do so a whole lot this evening in regards to yourself... I understand of course, all the others being present, the requirements of your position and what have you... your duties. Yet what truly of you? How are you within? How have you been faring these long days? Things have been more difficult then usual, have they not? Really... Sithis would not be disappointed if you merely spoke of what you felt".

His tone was light, conversational and genuinely concerned for the Imperial's well being, as he always had been... and Lucien wished that he could speak more on the subject the Vampire asked. He trusted Vicente... and there was no possible way he could have been involved with the Traitor... but he tread carefully in his responses, giving only what little he could to his old friend, while serving his Mother's wishes for himself without his guard slipping.

"Things have been quite busy... almost trying even, my old friend, to tell you the truth", Lucien finally admitted, his voice as low and contemplative as ever as he met the Vampire's knowing scarlet eyes. "I cannot say much at this time... but I will provide a little of what I can. I could be far better then I am at the moment in my affairs. These... rumours you all have been hearing since the time of Maria's disappearance... it is something myself and another are indeed looking very closely in to... as I said in my speech, and neither of us have been altogether successful in... at the moment... due to a particularly frustrating set of complications."

"_Another_?", Vicente enquired rather interestedly, considering the careful wording the Speaker often used, a white eyebrow rising ever so slightly as a smile formed. Each of their tones were now almost entirely hushed, so that they alone could hear the other.

"I presume, forgive me for perhaps an obvious lack of tact, you know my curious and rambling nature all too well... that this... _other_ you speak of, would be dear Arquen? I mean, who other of the Fingers shares in with your particular brand of fiery devotion that makes the Hand what it is? Though I needless say to _you_ of all people... her appealing methods of murder, like her manner, are quite unique as your own... at least here in Cyrodiil. In my many years, I have met others similar to her... but none so... well, none so fear and awe inspiring as she can be when her true self quickens. In that, she is similar to yourself... as she is so entirely different... a mirror image of yourself, yet distortedly so. Through a glass darkly, if you will. Her heart, beneath her projected public exterior, is amongst the cruelest and depraved to exist... but then what more could be expected from you? Your enviable, yet carefully managed tastes in pleasure have always drawn more from the darkest depths of the rippling primordial pool that is Man, Elf... and might I add, _Vampire _kind, Child of Darkness... I salute you my Brother. You are but one of few capable of handling those such as _she_... Sithis has always been pleased with this, I'm certain. Of course, my words are not derisive towards any of the Fingers to be certain... as they never have been... I merely like to speak truthfully, of course. I hold nothing but reverence for the title, and the power required to hold it... but in my old age, I often talk a little too freely, as you can see. Do give her my regards the next time you see her".

Lucien's stony silence provided the elder, who had long been able to see through him, his answer, an answer he'd had to begin with, in regards to the Altmer and the Imperial Speaker's. Lucien was amused at Vicente's perceptions and knowledge of himself. The Vampire's tone was as appreciative as his words, and indeed, he raised a glass to his Speaker as he again sipped from his glass.

"You have always been a most fascinating specimen, Lucien... the ideal image for a Dark Brother. Never boastful nor egocentric, self assured... elegant and charismatic... intelligent and scarcely rivalled in your immense cruelty... but not driven almost entirely by emotion, as others are. Rather like myself, actually. You've consumed the blood before and know the power of it... now if only you were to accept the entirety of my Dark Gift and always remain unaltered upon this world as I do... the opportunity's that could provide... the things I could show you that I have not already...".

"If I had accepted it the first time you had asked me, or any of the other times... I would not be the person you so greatly cherish today, Vicente. Physical immortality is not for me... nor does it interest me in the slightest, for any of us who serve the Father will one day receive greater things from His hands regardless. When I go, I go to my final reward, as you do, and another shall inherit my earthly duties. We each know this... but your continued hope for my acceptance, as well as regard for me, is more then appreciated."

"The offer, nevertheless... stands, dearest brother. I request you not entirely dismiss it. The century's ahead would prove less enjoyable without you around for company throughout them".

"You always were sharp as you are observant, Vicente... omniscient even. You raise several truthful points... but back to the more important matter, that of our whole Brotherhood and not simply _I_, I am indeed not the only Speaker being affected by these... sporadic disappearances. They are... an alarming and disquieting matter that does not sit comfortably with either of us. Actions must be taken to prevent it from growing out of control. The Night Mother demands it".

"_Either _of you? Is not the remainder of the Hand investigating this as well, dear Lucien? Such a thing would be most prudent in achieving the desired outcome. _Ah_... this must be apart of the complications you have spoke of... I see.".

"Let me just say that at _this _particular time, the others are proceeding in their own important affairs. Right now, this matter... is ours alone to take care of. The time will come soon... but not soon enough, I'm sure, where the others will take this whole thing more seriously. As they should have been doing from the beginning".

Vicente leaned his cheek onto his fist as he considered the deathly calm, yet unmistakably irritated Speaker, and at last, he nodded, his own even voice speaking again.

"I understand... the very idea... of a Traitor, is frightening in it's self. I will not pry into the specifics of your investigations... they are of course for you entirely to handle... I will merely state that I wish you both the best of luck... from all of us, and my best possible advice at this time, should you wish to hear it. You yourself have likely already drawn the same conclusion as I."

"You know how much your advice has always meant to me, dear brother", Lucien replied quietly, continuing to study his Vampire companion's sensuous smile. "I will listen to anything you have to say... as you have me."

"Then in that case... consider this. This entire situation is not the same as the one Greywyn attempted. This is not an obvious situation... it is anything but. There is someone somewhere out there preying individually upon our Brothers and Sisters... and doing so in a somehow patternless, yet methodical way. I don't believe, if this truly is something to fear, that this serial killer's motive is even close to Greywyn's... it's all too precise and careful... it stresses a marked independence I think... not a forthright plot carrying in the hearts of many brethren.. nor an attempt to seize the Brotherhood for control. The reason is far more insidious then power I think. Just as that new headache Adameus Philida cannot be behind this situation. Those he kills are done so in public places, obvious condemnations are made even through print against us. If we are fortunate, this... Traitor, be that truly what it is, will slip up in some way... perhaps a degeneracy of the mind... and maybe end up destroying themselves... or perhaps they will not. Perhaps they have planned this thing out entirely and intend to see it through until they are unable. I apologize, but there is nothing good about either scenario, for the Brotherhood rests before a looming threat. This individual must be stopped... and at once. Something I believe you will be the one to accomplish... you who have done so much for us all."

"I thank you... for your words and your faith, Vicente", The Speaker replied graciously. He too had indeed considered much of this... but to hear it again from another so much like himself as almost reassuring. "I intend to see this through... and I will heed all possible leads".

"You are welcome dear Speaker... I simply wish I could offer more in the way of helping. Remember, the offer to speak of this thing stands at all times... should you wish to do so as the situation... progresses, and if you require a faithful Executioner, I should be more then pleased to provide this service on your behalf..."

"I intend to keep that fully in mind", Lucien answered, thanking him again. Vicente waved aside his thanks as he had with the girls, for his help towards the younger of the two had always been a constant.

"It's been such a lovely evening, I am often loath to speak of such grim matters", Vicente admitted quietly, his eyes stealing over in the direction of the two sleeping brothers, and the twin Shadowscales who had nearly cleared away the entire tables. "Yet if we do no address them, we are no better then the ignorant and unworthy swarming across Tamriel. In any event, I suppose it does not do to focus on this topic entirely for this whole evening... you came here to relax. Sithis knows you have a great workload to carry once you return to your other home".

"The Night Mother has been most generous, as she always is to her faithful", Lucien agreed in turn, reaching the end of his glass and again refilling it. "This evening has been among the most welcome I have had these past months... to see the faces of each of you gathered as one... to glimpse each of the children. Though, I must admit, were it not for my dearest sister, these past months would have been multiplied in their unpleasantness. Perhaps, at another time, we might have another feast, if all this is finally resolved. I will not grow overconfident as others... but another occasion to do this would be pleasant, and should this occur, I believe Arquen would very much enjoy to be in attendance as a guest."

"I'll bet she would. It would certainly be nice to see her again", The Vampire replied quite silkily sharing another knowing gaze with the Speaker, his voice lowering a shade further. "Though special accommodations may have to be made, of course... to suit her desires".

"She's none too selective, my dear Vicente", Lucien replied resolutely, shrugging evenly as he drank another sip from his glass, and Vicente, after a comfortable pause, continued on.

"Even if it is not a full on feast you drop by for next, dearest Brother", Vicente began again, nodding his head in agreement with the Imperial's assessment "You mustn't forget to visit for a meal. You cannot be expected to operate in peak condition without sharing at least some time with your family... but of course, you know what is best. Who knows though? Perhaps you'll like Antoinetta's cooking even more then my own. Dear me... Nightshade..."

The pair chuckled in unison at the conjured image of the young woman submerging her pretty face into her soup, and of the other she had risen of a suffering cruel aunt succumbing to the poison the young woman had kindly provided. There was something about poison that was all the more brutal even then the blade... for it travelled not from an external direction, spurting a glorious stream of blood, but either slowly or quickly swarmed through the nervous system, creating a multitude of cruel symptoms the murderer might savour just as greatly as stabbings, even if it were less messy... but then, even that held distinct advantages here or there. She'd not had cause to fear a lack of originality in her method of murder... for all manner of execution was as beautiful as the last... the only differences could be considered regarding an artistic perspective or lack of one as the murder was performed, and the circumstances of the situation. The possibility's and combinations were truly endless... and the beauty of each unique unto themselves. Murder truly had been, since first performed, it's own world An enterprise. Her own cruelty had shone vibrantly in her story, and had been entirely delightful to hear. All that remained was for to take her murderous passion, and to bring it down upon her contracts. He was reminded of the present he had brought for her... but her absence had complicated his hope of bestowing it to her personally. He would have to leave it with one of the others, perhaps.

As the brothers reminisced upon the story, the twin Shadowscales had finished up their tasks, each of the tables cleared of all but their drinks, and rejoined their Speaker at his table in their original positions. For a time, the four veterans spoke amongst themselves, and the remainder of the drinks steadily vanished as they did so... and it was Ocheeva who first addressed the hour, turning her focus to Lucien.

"It's been quite the evening, dearest Speaker... but I hope you were not thinking of returning to the fort, by chance", her raspy voice commented, and the other two close at hand voiced their agreement.

"I was starting to indeed, my dear Ocheeva", Lucien replied calmly, a faint trace of a smile forming. "Yet it would seem you have in yourself another idea in store for me... by all means, I am listening... the Mead has not distilled my ability to do so. Not yet anyways".

"If only Gogron could claim the same thing... I was thinking, given the time, you should instead sleep here, at your true home, instead of making the effort to make your way to the Fort. It has been such a beautiful time for all of us, and it would be such a shame if you simply departed abruptly without the opportunity for the others to say their goodbyes. We don't intend... well, _some _of us wouldn't at least, want to hold you hostage here... but you know your own importance and effect as well as we, and I wish you would stay for tonight at least. You can always head out early after waking to take care of your duties... what do you say?"

Lucien did not need to consider the offer at great length... for although he had been considering his looming departure as his own exhaustion began to return, he had been doing so almost with indifference at the prospect. The hopeful Ocheeva was entirely correct... it would not due simply to leave as suddenly as he had arrived... and the rest of the family not already sitting at the table would agree entirely. He had arrived here to celebrate with each of them... so what harm would there be in letting it last at least a little ways longer? Simply, Lucien inclined his head to the Mistress.

"I see of no reason I cannot", he answered swiftly, pressing himself back further against the seat, his eyes turned up and studied the mostly empty beds of the Quarters. "It would be preferable to wandering back out into the snow... shall I take Mathieu's bed... or..."

"Nonsense Lucien, you're a Speaker... you're more then entitled to your own privacy", Ocheeva interceded firmly with a shake of her scale covered head. "You can use my quarters... it's not a problem at all. I'm sure our new dear child will be more then a little disappointed.. but I'm equally certain she'll manage to recover".

Teinaava uttered a high rasping laugh that Vicente joined in on, and Lucien, although himself bemused at this prospect, ignored them while Ocheeva simply scowled at the pair impatiently.

"Your generosity is ever appreciated my dearest Mistress, I thank you", Lucien assured her gently. He rose steadily to his feet, the alcohol scarcely having effected him... though admittedly he had drunken a little less then he had at other times in his life. He pushed back the chair away from himself as he rose, and straightened out his robes. "I will endeavour to leave it as tidy as I first entered it. I apologize, but my own exhaustion has, I believe finally caught up with myself... if you would all be so kind as to excuse me..."

"Think nothing of it Lucien", Ocheeva replied kindly, peering up at the tall Imperial, and then across to her brother. "Myself and Teinaava will be staying up a little longer... what about you Vicente? You may not be a fledgling, but Vampires seem to enjoy their sleep too... and you manage to strike me somehow as tired in spite of it".

"Dear me yes... it certainly is past my usual bedtime", Vicente agreed with a sigh, finishing the remainder of the blood in his glass. He too rose from the table in Lucien's wake, and took the nearly empty, dusty bottle into his hand, scarlet eyes flickering to the Speaker. "I'll see you to your room, dear Speaker... not that you've forgotten the way. Antoinetta didn't even get lost after the tour. Good night to you both, dear Brother and Sister... don't stay up too long. I'm surprised none of us have collapsed yet from exhaustion".

The loud snoring from the quarters, courtesy of the massive bulge of sheets that was an Orc, again reached the older Brothers and Sister of the Cheydinhal family, and Vicente merely shook his head.

Lucien too bid the pair of Argonian's good night, that Sithis watch over them, and received as much in kind as Vicente carefully gathered up his long frock coat, bundling it around himself and doing up the many buttons. He ran a long fingered preternaturally white hand across his lined forehead and dropped the recorked bottle into one of it's pockets, and, purely out of human habit, breathed in unnecessary air, the seemingly permanently dusty coat rising and falling. The two nodded at one another, and with that, they started off from the Quarters, heading for the corridor adjoining to the main floor, and the Vampire folded his hands behind his back. As they went along, the voices of the Shadowscale's fading along with the snores, they did so in complete silence until they had reached the main floor again, finding it entirely absent of the young Breton and Bosmer sister who had gone off somewhere. Vicente was the first to voice his curiosity on the matter, his eyes moving about the pillars, glimpsing only the shuffling skeleton clad in it's decaying armour suit. He cocked his ear to one side, and he listened beyond the barrier of the apparent silence in a way a mortal like Lucien could not.

"Ah... I was wondering where they had gotten off to... all that whispering amongst themselves about you", Vicente's clear voice commented, smiling faintly when the pair had stopped in the centre of the hall, his eyes moving to the main doors opposite the Living Quarters, the ones that belonged to the Training Room. Lucien followed his gaze, yet remained quiet. "It would be inappropriate and ill mannered of me to spoil their fun in telling you ahead of their desired time... you'll see soon enough. Besides... sleep awaits us... and she is not a mistress best to be _kept _waiting".

"What are you rambling about this time, dear brother?", Lucien smirked slightly, unconsciously rubbing his stubble lined jaw. Regardless of his mildness, the fire of his curiosity was prodded even more then it had been as the feast died down and the girls had left, yet Vicente moved them away from both the Living Quarters and doors of the Training Room, but nevertheless, Lucien glanced another time back at the doors he could not see beyond. They proceeded on down the hallway, passing not only the pillars with their many banners, but nearing the skeleton on the way to their rooms as well, and Vicente smiled somewhat innocently. "And here I thought Mraaj Dar speaking to her was the most curious thing of the evening... what are those two even up to?"

"As I said, dear Lucien... it would be rude of me to say anything further, and etiquette should always be held to the highest standard possible."

- and yet you have just _eavesdropped _in on them anyways. A fine teacher you are on manners. Sub faction indeed. The Crimson Scars were far more honest in their affairs at least".

"Well now... if you merely accepted my Dark Gift, you would understand the difficulty of resisting such a temptation, to not only hear, but feel the very essence of sound waves reverberating through the walls and washing over and into the layers of one's mind like notes from a finely tuned alien instrument... alas, it will always be foolish to attempt description of what cannot be described."

"I've managed well enough without greatly imposed hearing and senses thus far... and as for listening to fine sounds, one such as I can always visit a bard, attend an opera... or pay visit to a random stranger or two".

"Pale substitutes my friend... pale substitutes. Yet nevertheless beautiful in their own right... for who am _I _to speak of paleness? Then again, the Dark Gift is different for each of us... perhaps you wouldn't even be able to hear through walls for century's. _Oh_! Pardon me fellow... I daresay you are lacking in direction, dear brother".

Vicente had nearly bumped head first right into the shuffling Dark Guardian as they closed in on the next corridor, but he narrowly avoided it, and promptly patted the thing on the back of it's armour like a courteous gentleman respecting another, a cloud of dust rising off the withered remains of the bodysuit as he retracted his hand.

"Oh... he follows directions now, I should think", The Speaker replied darkly, and the pair chuckled knowingly as the skeleton lurched away from them almost aimlessly, it's joints creaking in agony. "And he was a rather surprisingly quick learner at that".

"I suppose that was something even _I _could not have taught so... uniquely", The Vampire agreed mildly, and at this, they passed around the bend, the main floor disappearing with it's Guardian, the hallway and it's far stairwell beyond coming to sight. They both stopped at the already open doors of Ocheeva's private quarters, and turned to face one another.

"Well... back to the situation at hand, this is the part, I suppose, where I must bid you a goodnight.", Vicente said, studying the hooded Imperial closely for a moment as if savouring his appearance as he did the Speaker's presence, his unnaturally thin lips pursing. "I'll be up to bring you your breakfast before you are to go... I usually get up earlier then the others anyways, requiring the least rest."

"You have my thanks, Vicente... so long as you do not use that trap door within the floor. I am not the kind of man who reacts pleasantly to sudden humanoid shadows leaping about the room".

"For my own... uh, health, I'll keep that in mind. Besides, I would not wish for you to go and ruin my beautiful clothing", Vicente assured him, his twinkling eyes stealing to the sheathed and undoubtedly silvered weapon in his belt, and his manner became almost teasing towards his Imperial brother. "And perhaps I'd better tip off that rather fetching Antoinetta to that fact, for her sake as well. You know... I really must also remember to pass along your address to her..."

"She is young... for her I'd make an _exception. You_on the other hand should know by now the folly's of surprising me.", Lucien replied with a trace of another smirk. He extended his gloved hand to the Vampire, who took it at once. The preternatural strength in his fingertips and clear nails squeezed against Lucien, but was done carefully with restraint, and tenderly so. "Good night dearest brother... don't stay up the whole morning listening in on people's conversations above in the streets... or their homes for that matter".

"I see no reason not to... for I actually sometimes do, unless I wish to shut them out. You would think hearing the same townsfolk time after time would grow boring or dreary after awhile... but you'd be surprised. The beautifully vivid and rich images that reside in Rythe Lythandus's mind could rival the finest painters of Tamriel. I believe dear Janus performs the same observations on his subjects now and again, if only to receive their general opinions in matters. His time these days is so very devoted less to individual citizens, and almost entirely to his poor ailing wife. She is succumbing to the insanity that tried to claim myself once, it would seem... the poor dear".

The Vampire looked thoroughly pleased with himself at the words, and Lucien shook his head. Vicente always _had _enjoyed speaking freely and proudly of the more public and famous company he kept and had kept by evening, one of his few guilty pleasures. With this, Vicente released the hand of his Speaker and again bid him good night, continuing on down the corridor. Lucien watched as, before reaching the stairwell and beginning his descent, his folded, pale hands released one another and dug into the pocket of his coat, producing the nearly empty bottle and releasing it's cork, taking the final drink from it. He glanced back over his shoulder to the Speaker and shrugged before stowing it away again from sight. There was something unmistakably distant in his gaze, regretful even, to have to turn it away from Lucien before vanishing down the staircase entirely. His preternatural silence, one it had taken Lucien himself time to learn, remained, and there was not a single footfall echoing off the walls.

On his own again, Lucien entered Ocheeva's private quarters and closed the door behind himself. The glow of a dying candle greeted him, and with this to guide his way, he moved to the bed, changing from his robes and folding them in half. The Speaker sat down on the bed as he changed out of his boots, and from his bundle of robes, he produced the sheathed short sword from his belt, sliding it beneath the pillows propped up on the headboard. Drawing the warm blankets up and over himself, the Speaker turned in for the morning. The mead's presence remained in his mind, even if it's power was not equal to his own... and it kept him awake for a little while, and reliving each detail of the pleasant evening as they had just unfolded. It had been far too long since last he'd had the opportunity to send time with more then one of the Brethren who meant more to him then nearly anything else... he had not felt this relaxed in far too long.

How long ago had it last been when he slept in the Sanctuary? How many months since he had enjoyed the comfort of his true home, and doing so as it's Speaker? The evening was one he wished he could experience constantly, but he knew that to be an impossibility. He was... contented, not merely his hunger, but his state of mind. The contents of Antoinetta's powerful story continued to swirl around within the basin of his mind, and as she herself had already done countless times before, he relived through his own perspective the wonderful death of her aunt... the very action that had brought her to them all. Gogron's customary nearly bone crushing hug had not been as bad as it usually was... Telaendril's reverence to her Speaker was palpable and welcome, to say nothing of the bright eyed young Breton herself and the twin Shadowscales. He had never expected to glimpse the wavering of harshness occur before his very eyes, as it had seemed to do with Mraaj Dar... at last a step, even if it were a small one, in the right direction for him. Even the talk of the Traitor had produced a different effect within him when he had spoken of it aloud to his oldest friend, hearing the concern and everlasting loyalty in his voice. He had missed _all _of this... and would have to continue missing it as his duties became numerous... something he had the Traitor to thank, and another reason to rend the degenerate to pieces. His time with the ones he loved was being as cruelly stolen as their very lives.

A dark and misty anger swirled somewhere in the depths within Lucien's being... but as he glimpsed the images of his happy, laughing family gathered around the table... they vanished. There was no point in living entirely on the subject of the traitor... for he had left that back at the Fort, and it, like his tasks, would be waiting from him the following night as it were. Instead, he simply relaxed against the bed... amidst the faces of his Brothers and Sisters, and by now, the candle at Ocheeva's bedside table had gone out, and the room was submerged into a beautiful pitch darkness so very much like the Void... and his conscious being followed soon after.

* * *

><p><strong><em><span>Departure<span>_**

Lucien rose the following evening to find his breakfast already made and waiting for him on the bedside table, drawing a pleased smirk from the Speaker. It would seem that at some point, Vicente had indeed crept into the Quarters, be it through the main doors or the trap door that led up from his own, and had done it so perfectly he, Lucien, for all his mortal perceptions, had not been awoken, even taking the time to relight a couple candles for his sake. Perhaps it had been that truly beautiful rest that had left him so vulnerable... for all the pressing matters of the Black Hand seemed to, not evaporate, but remain somewhere at the edge of his mind, not leaking into the entirety of his thoughts. He ate breakfast in the sweet silence, savouring every morsel and sip from his mug, and, once done, lay back on the bed for a brief time, recollecting himself in preparation for the evening, going over his internal schedule so very apart of him as his blood. Once he was done, he gathered up his robes and put them on once more, relishing the enchantments and the glowing white ripple of energy that passed over his body until it had settled down, and he was truly the Speaker again. He departed the quarters after taking a final look around it, sealing the creaking doors behind himself.

The corridor outside was empty... but there was unmistakable chatter of voices coming from the main hall back towards the Ancient Door that awaited him, and, rounding the bend, he nearly froze in his tracks. The entire Cheydinhal Family, already dressed in their respective outfits, awaited him down towards the tunnel, and the moment they caught sight of him, their conversations drew to a close amongst themselves, and they each greeted him energetically as his shadow fell across them.

"_Well now_, it's about time dearest Brother", Vicente's silky, languid voice greeted him almost sensually. He stood with Ocheeva and Teinaava at the forefront of the crowd, the younger Brothers and Sisters in the back. "I was beginning to think the Breakfast I'd made was too much... and as you can see, you didn't exactly jump at my shadow either".

"Good evening to you Speaker!", Ocheeva was the next to speak, and she embraced him warmly, moving away from Vicente and holding him tightly before, reluctantly, relinquishing her hold on him. "I trust your rest here was a pleasant one?"

"Well well, look who managed to stumble out of bed!", Gogron's voice carried across the others, and there was a great laughter amongst them all. "Obviously he slept well Mistress, is his title Speaker, or Sleeper?"

"That's an old one", the hooded Telaendril interrupted from his side, her long, thin arm wrapped around the towering Orc's armoured great waist, yet nevertheless she joined in with a laugh of her own as well. "You need to work on your jokes, Gogron".

"Aw, you know you're drawn to my humour.. amongst _other _things, of course!", The Orc shot back flashing a brutish, lustful grin, and laughed again as he leered sideways at her with a risen eyebrow, earning a mock scowl from the Bosmer and an undisguised disgusted cough from the Khajiit close by.

The noise continued on for quite some time, and Lucien simply remained quiet, revelling again in the energy swirling throughout the Family. They were all there, and gathered for him... for his sake. A swell passed over his heart as he studied each of them, their excitement... their effect on him. Eventually, the sounds died down for him to speak, but the level of optimism continued to roll off of them, and at last, he continued.

"Thank you each for a wonderful feast and time", His low voice addressed them, and he opened his arms to them. "It was so very welcome to see each of you here together, as the Family that we are. I regret the necessity of my leaving now, when I have only gotten up, but you each understand and accept this... and I thank you for that too. There is so much yet to do, and so little time in the evening. Your passion keeps me going out there when times are difficult... and were there another way, I would stay here. Regardless, you shall see me again as soon as I am able... and I'm certain the absence will not be for a matter of months this time around. May the Night Mother always watch over and protect this Sanctuary, as I do... and may your love only multiply amidst one another".

"I believe I speak for us all when I request that you never become a stranger", Vicente's smooth voice informed him following his words, and each of the other heads nodded. "What a shame it would be for each of us... but then, it would be impossible for you to become so. After all you have done for us. Good luck in your endeavours, my dearest friend... travel safely, and may Sithis always protect you as his favourite son".

There was great agreement to this, and the Family swirled around the Speaker, many of them hugging him one by one. Lucien embraced his oldest friend first, drawing the Breton close and tightly, his Vampiric strength gratefully restrained as ever, until he drew back slowly, followed by Ocheeva again and Telaendril, each of whom did so with a great passionate vigour, before extending a hand out to Teinaava. This handshake was broken, unsurprisingly, by Gogron, who could not contain himself, and again pushed forward, pushed the Shadowscale aside as gently as possible and hugged the Speaker in spite of Telaendril's and Ocheeva's best efforts to restrain him. Lucien hugged the Orc back, and went within the depths of his mind to alleviate the expanding pain... thankfully however, as it was with Vicente, he did not exert every bit of his Orc strength... in this regard at least he seemed to be improving. The Orc moved away finally laughing, and they each shook hands as Lucien smiled to spite the stiffness of his shoulders and spine, and the now throbbing of his gloved, pressurized hand joining the pain of these two as well. Mraaj Dar followed afterwards, and they too clasped hands respectfully, the Khajiit inclining his head and offering something that could be interpreted for a smile of his own. They all spoke final departing words to him that he returned in kind, and they stood there for many minutes, until he was again reminded of the ugly importance of his departure. If he did not make it, and soon... he would not be able to leave them. They understood, and cleared his path after awhile, and he started to leave them with reluctance. As Gogron's obscuring body moved aside, and the Speaker started forward in his endeavours, he spotted one final member of the Family waiting for him beyond, just beside the start of the tunnel.

In the excitement of the gathering, it had been difficult to glimpse her smaller frame amongst the taller and or wider brothers and sisters, and he had only seen her happy pale face in the form of several passing glances... but had not seen her move away from the others at some point. She was still hooded and clad in her buckle covered bodysuit, of course, and she wore it at last with confidence... yet there was something the Speaker noticed was also different. Her long, beautiful hair no longer spilled from the confines of the hood, and her entire face was visible as such. His thin lips curled into a smile, and his eyes flickered back in Vicente's direction, receiving a familiar knowing smirk in kind. She watched him approaching her with clear and increasing shyness, but stood fast, leaning against the stone wall beside the tunnel in an attempt to look relaxed, her arms crossed, but not in an unreceptive fashion, more to alleviate her worry then anything else. He moved at last to her now, and paused before her, simply peering back into her widened eyes, and she stood upright again, her arms uncrossing quickly. Behind them, the onlookers continued to do exactly that, to watch them, Gogron making some rather particular jokes that reached the young Breton's ears, and caused her to blush.

Telaendril, however, would have none of it and took charge of the situation, shutting the Orc up and discouraged the others from watching any longer. There was an array of disappointed words, but for the most part, they accepted the Bosmer's insistence, and the crowd dispersed gradually, bound for their respective tasks about the Sanctuary, shooting glances back over their shoulders towards the Speaker. In spite of their own respect for privacy, there was no mistaking the curiosity within even the Mistress of the Sanctuary, who left with a disappointed Gogron at her side, the two redirecting their focus to chatting amongst each other. Mraaj Dar and Teinaava followed suit, headed for the Training Room, themselves speaking to each other. Vicente and Telaendril, the only of the Family truly without any interest in overhearing them, continued to usher the others away, and when they were all gone, the Bosmer and Vampire received a grateful smile from the tentative Antoinetta, which was promptly returned, and, assured the others were gone, save the exempt Dark Guardian shuffling through the hall, they too made their departure from the scene, leaving the Speaker and Sister some measure of privacy. Before he disappeared altogether, Vicente peered again backwards to the Speaker... and there was something subtle within him that Lucien could read at once, a familiar longing, and one far greater then a need for blood, the scarlet iris's somehow more human as they settled upon the Imperial, relinquishing only barely, at the nod of the Speaker's head, and returning to Telaendril as they passed together from sight. Lucien hadn't minded the onlookers, but for the child's sake, appreciated their swift, if reluctant, withdrawal.

"Well then", Lucien was the first to speak, again peering down to the petite young woman warmly. The girl, her eagerness visibly restrained, uncrossed her arms and stood further upright, leaning closer in his direction comfortably. "Now that they have gone... I can address a couple matters... particularly, what it is you wished to show me alone... or perhaps tell me. Something in regards to yours and Telaendril's departure the other morning. You have, as ever, my undivided attention".

Antoinetta forced away any kind of shyness prevalent through sheer force of will, and smiled right back at her Speaker. When she too spoke, it was no longer with the wavering she had when he crouched over her in the alley, but the same confidence she had endowed telling her story the evening prior.

"I thought they'd never leave", Antoinetta admitted politely, and drew back the hood of her suit for the first time in his presence, revealing the altered blonde hairstyle beneath. It was far shorter now, no longer down to her shoulders, and more manageable, the bangs and fringes reduced, and it gave her an even higher sense of elegant maturity, even if it was contradicted by her own demeanour, yet continued to extenuate her youthful beauty and radiant femininity. Part of it was tucked back behind her ears carefully, revealing each and the smoothness of her faintly bruised forehead. She smiled again a little more shyly, but not shamefully so as his eyes studied her more closely perhaps then they had before, her hands remaining, miraculously, not fidgeting. She seemed to lean forward even closer to him again, longing to break their distance and doing little to hide it, but uncertain. The vivacious young woman had not only transformed mentally in their time here, but was now almost doing so physically. No longer was she the frightened girl that had come to the Sanctuary to begin with... but now in the span of a single week stood a breathtaking young woman in her place who was well on her way to becoming something even more. Accompanied by developing combative skills... she would soon be as formidable an opponent to her enemies, as she already was a dark sister to her family.

"Do you like it? It was Telaendril's idea, of course... it took her awhile to convince me, but I'm not unhappy with the results, she does good work. Just like it was, well, her who asked Ocheeva to ask you to stay, so you could see it... I would have asked myself, but I was... well, you know."

"I do indeed... I also know that this look is very _marvellous _upon you, my child... although you were already quite beautiful to begin with", The Speaker answered placidly, his consideration and deep savouring of her looks withdrawing and returning to her ever bright eyes, and she flushed with delight at this sentiment and attention, to say nothing of the caring possession in his use of the word 'my'. "Dear Telaendril has simply added additional lovely strokes of the brush unto the human work of art that is yourself. I approve entirely... and I appreciate your desire in showing me first... this also allows me the opportunity to give you another gift personally... one I hope that will serve you well in your own endeavours, as well as you serve our Mother and Father."

Lucien Lachance reached into one of the pockets of his robes and produced the sheathed dagger before presenting it to her. She stared down at it blankly for a few moments, glancing up at his pleased face before taking it, and gingerly turning it over in her gloved hands, her eyes avid with fascination. Carefully, her fingers separated the sheath from the blade partially, and there was a slight hiss as it slid into view, cold, cruel silver shining in the light of the torches, twinkling between them as though a star had birthed it's self from the cosmos. Antoinetta stood in hushed silence as she turned the blade and leather sheath over, clutching it's handle gently, beaming down upon the weapon, to say nothing of her Speaker.

"It is but a child, parched for blood, dear girl... and as such, cries out for it in great quantity's", Lucien informed the young woman as she removed the sheath entirely, holding it down at her side, and the naked blade up higher above them to examine every curve and detail in it. "I trust you will more then accommodate it's expected demands."

Antoinetta's focus stole back to her Speaker, and her face shone with malicious delight as she did so, savouring the power the weapon imbued into her. With that, she re-sheathed the blade swiftly, and held it down loosely by her side, patting it lightly, unconsciously against her slender waist.

"I shall, my Speaker", Antoinetta vowed assuredly, her voice as excited as her eyes, which sparkled with threatened tears of joy. "I will take it to my first victim, and any and all who would be so stupid as to cross me, and cherish it for as long as I serve!"

"Excellent. Some tend to shun daggers and select swords only over smaller weapons such as they... but given the opportunity, one finds any weapon becomes an extension of the arm with enough and the proper usage. It holds a great many advantages over it's more cumbersome cousins... easy to stow away, quick to equip... and travels like lightning wherever you wish it to go. My recommendation is to learn at least the basics of each weapon type in the Training Room, and simply go with whichever suits you. It is important to have as much variety as possible... for the weapon of one kind perhaps may prove inadequate in a particular situation. As you can see, it has also been silvered... and as such, should prove invaluable if you ever encounter the less then friendly undead. Don't go waving it around Vicente, he may get the wrong idea."

Antoinetta laughed at this, each of them echoing slightly down the tunnel to the unsettling, glowing, scarlet Door.

"I'll be careful about that, dear Speaker."

"Even better to hear... I have known him long, and would very much like to continue doing so... plus you do not strike me as the kind who would break even one of the Tenets. That would be most unfortunate for both of us".

"I have no intention of becoming a skeleton, dear Speaker", The young woman assured him with a tiny, knowing smile. "I've already pretty much _been _one."

"And I would not dream of returning you to that state".

The two shared a comfortable silence at the mouth of the tunnel, in which Antoinetta continued to examine her dagger happily, shaking her head slowly... until she was the next to break the quiet. She connected the dagger to the belt around her waist, and found herself running a gloved hand through her clipped and styled hair as she peered up at the thoroughly relaxed Imperial, and breathing quietly.

"I... I want to thank you, my Speaker... for... well, for everything. Everything you have done", The blonde woman began at last, visible shyness returning again with a vengeance, and her hands did indeed play with one another slightly as she found again her courage. "I know, however, you will probably tell me that there is nothing to thank you for... that it was I and the Night Mother who brought me here... but you... well, you haven't given yourself the proper credit... and that is what I want to do for you. There is... so much, so very much I have to thank you for, saving me, giving me everything I have ever wanted... and well... yes. Yet, I want to thank you, not merely as, well, as a Dark Sister or a silly girl... but as a woman... if you might permit me to do so, I mean... there are no Tenets saying I cannot... and I saw Telaendril and Vicente doing the same last evening- um... but it is entirely your choice and not my own, for you have known them longer and deeper then you have me. I don't mean... well...".

Lucien studied her radiant gaze more closely, and a hand rose from his side as he continued her, and settled it's self soothingly onto her thin cheek. She did not recoil at his touch, rather nearly melting as it settled over her, his index finger gently caressing the bruises there. The Speaker believed he knew what she was referring to, having glimpsed similar desire in a great many eyes. Under most circumstances when it occurred in the heart of a young sister who had developed affection for him, he would, for the most part, avoid such adoration... but there were occasions where doing as much merely encouraged them, and Antoinetta struck him as being one of these type of individuals. It would not be right in his heart to love this girl in a manner that already belonged so firmly to another... but he did hold a measure of love for her, as he did all his children... and as such, could not find it in himself to entirely spurn her interest. The cruelty of such an action unto a family member, no matter their rank or character, was not one he partook in. He'd had hopes crushed before... and could not do what others had done to him. The outcomes of the future were numerous and unpredictable for mortals... and it could prove another lesson to her. Her interest flattered him... and regardless of her age, she was his social equal. A member of the family. And he honoured his fellow children as he did the Mother and Father.

"You may thank me in any way that you see fit to, dear sister", He finally answered, retracting his soothing hand from her face gradually. "It is _not_ for me to dictate that you cannot express _who _you are and _what_ you might feel, nor would I ever wish to do as much. As you say, there are no Tenets against such things, and _no_ title grants one control over another's feelings. This is a _Family_, Antoinetta. You _are _my family".

Antoinetta's blue eyes brightened, and she seemed to debate with herself over the matter. It took her some time to resolve the turmoil and embarrassment running rampant, but once she had, she stepped closer to her quiet Speaker, not removing her gaze from him. Rising up on the tip toes of her boots, wrapping an arm around her Speaker's shoulders to steady herself, she brought her lips to his stubble shadowed scratchy cheek, and pressed against it tenderly, her eyes closing against herself. She stood for a long moment, the cool, pleasant sensation of her lips caressing his face, until she began to draw back. He expected her to step backwards and convey her embarrassment in regards to the display of affection, but was surprised when she remained in his close proximity, deciding on the next course of action in a heartbeat.

"Oh what the hell, may as well while I have the chance, might not get it again", The young, vibrant mannered woman rolled her eyes, and moved forward again, this time both arms making their way around the older man's back and holding him tightly. Her lips made their way forward again to the interior of his hood... bound not for his cheek again, but for his own immobile pair.

Succumbing to her own yearning of him, Antoinetta kissed her Speaker, attempting to convey every bit of the surging and rippling emotion she felt in regards to him through her lips. Out of pure willpower even in the midst of her bliss, she resisted the nearly overwhelming temptation to deepen the kiss with her tongue, wishing him to think better of her then a being of uncontrolled and unrepentant lust, and to show him she had more class and refined sensibility then that. She knew fine gentlemen appreciated a lady, and she fully intended to be one. Hopefully, she did so in a manner that would both snare his interest and return him for more... but she could not discern it in either his calm, unblinking dark eyes, or his ungovernable manner, for his lips remained slackened, and did not return her passion... yet at least he did not push her away, a good sign. At last, it came time to draw away, and she did so with a hesitance, arms reluctantly withdrawing first, her pulse racing in her ears excitedly as if she had run several miles, it took her all not to literally pant from the adrenaline working through her, for she didn't exactly want him thinking her some kind of freak, lest he be put off by such a thing.

"Uh... write me sometime?", Antoinetta half joked with an innocent laugh, again running her hands through her clipped hair, looking up and down the hall to ensure nobody had watched her display, and Lucien merely smiled. "Or uh... I could write you... _no _never mind, busy, yeah... you'll be around to see us anyways, like you said".

"I will indeed", Lucien answered at last simply with a nod, allaying her concerns, and a momentary silence occurred again before he continued just as calmly. "I must be on my way now, yet know this: as I do with the others... I will be watching over your progress carefully... should you one day prove yourself exemplary in your contracts and duties to the Family, well... let us just say perhaps Telaendril will not be the only sister primed to ascend to the Black Hand. Keep that in mind, dear sister... one can go a long way in the Brotherhood".

"_Oh_, I think I'll remember that, dearest Speaker", Antoinetta replied, visablly quickened already at the prospect of promotion before she had begun, her mind alit with the possibility's offered... the chance at working at his side. "Travel carefully, and watch the cold out there... but then, you _were _the one wearing comfortable enchanted robes, now weren't you?"

"Well, I certainly wasn't wearing the dress, I should hope... and you have my apologies I had only the potion to give at the time, for such things invariably wear off", Lucien replied with another visible smile, glancing sideways down the tunnel to the scarlet door again. "Good luck, dearest child, and savour every moment of your time here... for, although there lies an entirely separate realm of pleasure out there as you kill... never take for granted the happiness your new family and home will always grant. I heartily never have, and I suspect you shan't either."

"I won't, dearest Speaker", she answered, and stepped back tentatively so he could leave, yet not taking her eyes from him. "And give my best to that horse of yours, Shadowmere".

"I'm certain she will appreciate it. Good evening then, my sister", The Speaker bid her farewell courteously, inclining his head politely, and made to leave. He passed her in the tunnel and made his way to the Ancient Black Door, which, sensing his approach, unsealed it's self abruptly as he waited patiently. He continued on with a slow yet long legged stride, and as Antoinetta watched, his silhouette, backed by the scarlet glow of the door, passed up out of sight beyond the tunnel, the door soon resealing it's self in the stone behind him.

The moment he was gone, Antoinetta nearly slumped back against the wall of the tunnel, her convincing facade of bravery dissipating, and her normally pale face burning red with embarrassment. She buried her face in her hands and began to laugh at herself, to mock herself for her manners. She'd tried to thank him as a woman, a proper lady and had ended up acting like the flirtatious little girl she already was anyways. His lack of comment regarding her action had perhaps been a blessing in the end, if she had been him, she'd probably have been embarrassed for the other as well... a foolish child with little to no self-control when it was needed.

Antoinetta remained in the tunnel for a time, simply laughing at her so called show of courage... but it soon broke off, and her hands retracted from her blushing face, for when it came right down to it, she'd gotten to do what she had wanted from that night he saved her. This was not to say, however, that that was the end of her attraction to him, not in the slightest... for although the issue of her thanking him had been resolved, her feelings most certainly hadn't. Sudden wide eyed horror crossed her paling features as she realized what she had just done, but it was replaced just as rapidly with a glowing smile... and right back to stricken horror. Her one blessing had been that the others weren't present to watch. She could imagine each of them laughing, if they had been present, and quite honestly they would have been right in doing so.

Her heart continued to race, and there was a strange, lurching sensation in the pit of her stomach... not a sickening one, but one that seemed to swell throughout her entire being and fill her with an energy that she could not entirely comprehend. Already she looked forward to the day he would return to the Sanctuary, whenever that might be... she would have to keep an ear out about him in regards to his exploit's, and focus her attention back to her training, contracts, and her family members as he had bidden, until then. Antoinetta shook her head slightly, and moved away from the tunnel finally, making her way back into the main hall of the Sanctuary, a coy, pleased smile playing at her very much satisfied lips. Already she could hear the smirking, knowing Telaendril asking a swarm of questions regarding the entirety of her actions in the tunnel, and already she very much looked forward to recounting the results of her gratitude to her dear sister. Hopefully... she would be far better at keeping a secret then Antoinetta was.

For it certainly had been an enjoyable outcome... and she hoped he felt very much the same.

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><p><strong>Well folks, there you have it, the majority, though by no means all, of the story. As it is with most of my chapters, I litter my stories with references to other works and whatnot... so I shall provide some commentary about a few references and sections.<br>**

**I had a blast writing Lucien's saving of Antoinetta... delivering her into the world she belongs in, one in which she has a cause and reason to live... part of the inspiration drawing from a picture of such on deviant art, as well as the novel/movie, Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice... a work that factored greatly into this story, particularly Vicente of course ;). Antoinetta mistaking Shadowmere for a male horse, and Lucien's subsequent correction, was done in response to Astride calling the horse such in Skyrim... just a little plot oversight we nerdy nitpickers like to fuss about lol. I have of course maintained the kind of 'fangirl' persona to Antoinetta that she hints at having towards Lachance in Oblivion, because frankly, it makes sense... this is the man who gave her everything, and even if she weren't mentally unstable as we can see she is, she would still love him for it. Again part of the inspiration for that side of her personality was humorous drawings on Deviant art depicting her as his stalker... of course I wished to go deeper into her disturbed side, thus the story of her aunt, and some of the sufferings she has endured... I rather pity her. The back story for her aunt sort of stemmed from that... tragedy, but almost came from nowhere... I just wrote and it spilled out. In accordance with her name, a play on Marie Antoinette, I added the idea of her trying to distinguish herself as a lady with manners... something that goes against her nature generally im sure, but she wanted to give it a try for her Speaker's sake... and no I could not resist a reference to the Queen's famous "let them eat cake", line ;). Lucien's characterization remains as it was in the last chapters, but now i am exploring his obvious charisma some more... his power over everyone around him... who wouldn't want him, man or woman? There were a few little tidbits about that, left for you to make up your own mind about his manner around others. This is his family, and certainly his equals socially... but not his true equals based upon manner, power and skill, save perhaps Vicente, as well as Arquen. Still, I hope I reflected well upon the love of the Cheydinhal Family, and gave you a good image of what they are like.  
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**I also took the time to depict the origin of the Dark Guardian... just for the hell of it, based upon a particular comment Gogron makes about Lucien in the game... though it'd be good for showing just how brutal and murderous as well as devoted to Sithis that the Speaker is.  
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**Mraaj Dar was fun to work with... depicting a character of such cold resentment... but deep down he loves his family, even new comers... he has merely suffered as well, and reacts to it differently, seeking isolation as opposed to comfort from his family after a tragedy... a trait innate to many fictional characters, Batman for example. I sort of showed him being pulled from that shell by the others, as well as his gradual warming to Antoinetta, for we the player receive the same thing in the game... eventually.  
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**Vicente's chat with Antoinetta was by far one of the most fun parts to write, for I have always been a huge fan of Vampires... and with him, I could present quite a bit in regards to them. His reference to numerous bloodlnes and traits, as well as a mishmash of all the kinds of vampire, is in reference to the novel Anno Dracula by Kim Newman, which I greatly reccomend. With Vicente himself, I took the sort of classy, well spoken image he presented in the game and added my own knowledge, mixing a bit of Interview with the Vampire to him, particularly the three main characters of the novel... Lestat's full life of many experiences as well as his confidence and resolve when he has a purpose, as well as Louis's sort of morose feel, as Vicente recanted his difficult beginnings with his morality, hating his evil nature at first, and at last Armand's great knowledge and darkness. For his descriptions of different kinds of Vampires, I made reference to the hideous plague carrying monster type vampires, the greatest vampire movie of all time, Nosferatu... and the trait of glowing red eyes and 'razors for teeth', goes to Stephen King's Salem's Lot. The more observant readers would have seen my clear jab at Stephanie Meyer's Twilight franchise, which is single handedly trying to cut the balls off of Vampires everywhere. I make no apology's for my hatred of it xD. The reference to Vampire children again goes to Interview with the Vampire, in the form of the 'child' Claudia, but also in reference to the rather wonderful novel and movies Let the Right One In/ Let Me In... particularly the idea of having a thrall, a servant, who the vampire brutally dispatched of and replaced in the american version of the movie, despite having known him his whole life and his loving the vampire, as opposed to simply giving him the Dark Gift... something that sort of unsettled and stayed with me.  
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**Gogron's love of Nord Women reflects my own admitted favoritism of the Nords as the best of the races xD each of my characters has been one... and that Werewolf woman reference is of course applicable to Skyrim's perhaps best woman character, Aela the Huntress. His arguments with Vicente over the food were done to set up the Cheydinhal family's perhaps greatest threat... Antoinetta's cooking xD. They'll have a bigger problem then arguments over differing quality soon enough lol.  
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**Well, that about wraps the chapter up... thank you for the patience in reading my longest chapter ever composed, and as with every other writer on this site... reviews would be greatly appreciated/ encouragement, that kind of thing, you know? If any of your friends like the brotherhood, pass it along lol. Makes it easier knowing someone out there is enjoying my work... but nevertheless, i'll be continuing. Thanks again, and have a good one... see you... and _Arquen_ again for that matter, next chapter ;).**


	4. Part 4: Love and Miss Arquen

** Caelistis Rydraline: Thank you again very much for such an good review, those are always encouraging for writers like me to receive. I hope you will enjoy the rest of the story, as it gets into darker territory's.**

**Nicci1991: Thank you for the review, It's much appreciated. It makes me happy to see my story is capable of crossing the language barrier to interest those of other country's, as well as helping you with English :). I am glad my interpretation of the events not shown in Oblivion's dark brotherhood are so well received, I had little more then basics to go on when it came to showing Bellamont's origin, as well as Antoinetta's arrival to the dark family... so it's wonderful you like it. May you too always walk in the shadows of our Dread Father ;)**

**Alright, well now, the last chapter seemed to be enjoyed, I thank all who read it who managed to bear with the length of the chapter... or rather Novella xD. Now we reach the halfway mark of my story, and the chapters will not be as mind numbingly vast. As you all know, the prior chapter was devoted to the Cheydinhal Family... but from here forward the focus will settle onto a smaller, yet far more volatile family... that of the Black Hand ;). As such, things will get darker from here on and even more personal... I warn you again, that Mature rating is there for a reason. Just for a heads up, this chapter will contain sexual content... my first depiction of such in a story by me, actually. Many fan fiction authors like to commit fanservice with the depiction of sex, having scenes like that just for the sake of having them... however such is not the same with me... when there is a love scene (a rather morbid love in this case) it should be built up to, and play a role in the relationship between two characters and the story it's self, as well as saying something about the two sharing it... not everything should be tossed into a story just for the hell of it. Now, this chapter does not feature the entire Black Hand, that will have to wait... instead this will revolve around two of the Fingers again, to give you some context as well as let you form some of your own ideas about them. I have depicted Arquen in part two as you know... but said depiction was merely that of her exterior, the front she puts up in public... but now that it is just the two of them free from any onlookers... although you will see her love of pretending to be something she is not, I will at last show you what is within her... which is none too pretty. Well, I suppose that will do for the moment... and so without further ado, here you all go:**

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><p>"Ah, there you are... I've not had very long to wait then, it would seem. Mind your step, dearest sister... it would not do to have you slip and break something. What a waste of a lovely evening that should prove it's self, having to mend your legs or ribs for it's entirety."<p>

"I might be taller then most, brother, yourself most certainly included, but I assure you, I did not attain my position in the Family by being clumsy... or having brittle bones."

"Of course not... I _know_ already what it was that _did _give you your position."

"Oh, _quiet_ _you."_

Her feet carefully implanted into the rungs of the rope ladder, Arquen reached back up to the latch on the trap door within the hollowed tree trunk above with her only free hand and pulled it shut with a snap and a click, sealing out the frigid night temperature of the only gradually retreating Evening Star. Although a new season loomed on the horizon, the effects of change had yet to appear when it came to severity of the weather at large. The Speaker descended the rope ladder more carefully, gracefully even, lowering herself into the deepest recesses of Fort Farragut, until she had reached the last rung of the ladder, the folds of her cloak dangling above the ground, and dropped herself off abruptly, her boots landing on the stone surface of the floor below with an echoing patter that carried about her. Readjusting her bundle of things down beneath her arm, and casually brushing the freshly fallen snow flakes off both her otherwise colorless hood and cloak, she started to turn to her fellow Speaker, but was stopped suddenly by curiosity as she considered the interior of his intriguing, secretive lair.

Arquen stood in the centre of a massive stone chamber that was far from empty, it's decorations in sharp contrast to the the ruined state of the run down fort's battlements outside. Along the east wing of the chamber, there were wooden shelves, high backed chairs, a pantry, a rack of liquors just about half empty, and a pair of oak chests. There was a table, and it looked as if the entire section were devoted to his work life and nourishment, scraps of parchment covered in his familiar scrawl, quills and ink bottles scattered about the entirety of the table. Close by there was another table with a Mortar and Pestle stationed on it, alongside various chopped up alchemical ingredients and other supplies. It was as if he had stopped amidst his potion making, a silver knife used to chop up the mixtures, resting amongst small piles of each ingredients, chopped up roots, flowers and plants of all kinds and all colours.. and the particular flowering plant all Brotherhood members knew so well: bits of Nightshade leaves as well as a small pile of unnaturally dark berries. Their toxins were well known to Arquen, having used them before... the effects of which being particularly delightful. For the most part, the chamber was dark, yet at each section of his home there were at least several dimly lit candles dripping clear, almost watery wax, either held up by a metal candle rod on the floor, or standing upright in holders on the surfaces by themselves, giving a glowing aura to the areas they resided.

The moment she had lowered herself into the depths of the chamber, a beautifully cold, clammy sensation had passed through her many layers, over the surface of her flesh and had risen it in a series of goosebumps. It was not like the frigid temperatures outside on the surface... that wasn't it at all, rather, it was a feeling rather like being in the presence of death or her own Sanctuary... one that threatened to send her being into spasms of outright excitement... merriment. Ahead of her, at the southern wing of the chamber, there rested a dark, cast iron portcullis gateway, the only entrance to the chamber besides the trapdoor high above, in the stone wall, while down at her side in the floor close to the ladder rested the lever to raise or drop the gate at will. She could glimpse through the cracks in the bars of the portcullis... and as such, could see the distant otherworldly mist rising eerily amidst the corridor beyond, a mist that did not make it's way back towards the chamber they resided in. Now and again, an outline of something, or more then one something, dark and almost humanoid stirred in the fog as it lurched by... and at this, she could see why he had specifically requested she _not_ take the front door... though in hindsight, it surely would have been far more entertaining then the climbing of a ladder.

A wry little smile touched the full lips of the Speaker at this thought, and her attention moved lazily on, over to the western wall of her companion's spacious home. One corner of this particular wall seemed to be almost entirely devoted to leisure, for there was a book case thick with volumes, and a work desk close at hand with a pulled up chair, the top of the long table's surface also nearly buried under literature and papers, yet any ink blots or quills that may have belonged having been stowed into one of the many drawers. Some of the books were open, their dark ink and occasional obscured sketchings and maps illuminated beneath the glow of candle light, while others held markers in their page merely waiting to be opened again. On the opposite corner, just behind the ladder she had descended, there was the final area of his chamber... and one no home was complete without: a bed. It was covered by red and gold sheets and a matching pillow, giving an ironic feel of royalty to the otherwise dank place none but themselves belonged down in. The bed was likely spacious enough it seemed, and comfortable to the eyes... certainly, it would serve it's purpose that evening regardless of how it felt to the touch, be it roughened or gentle. Given Lucien's charmingly elaborate and elegant style, it did not seem likely to be a mattress as hard as the stone under her feet. If there was a problem regarding space on the other hand... room could be made for two quite easily.

There were other things of course, details of the room, but none so interesting to her as the bed. On the far right of the bed there was another tall cabinet that was closed. Next to this, another chest, likely locked, and devoted to items of even more importance to a member of the Brotherhood. The final bit of furniture took the form of a well furnished dresser on the left hand side of the bed, illuminated by several candles on it's self, and closed to Arquen's prying eyes. Around the entire chamber, hanging up proudly on the walls and pillars, there were the very banners that graced each Sanctuary she had ever seen: that of the beautiful and incomparable visage of the Black Hand stamped out amidst an oval of white, as if presiding over the room and protecting it. Indeed, a scarlet and black banner hung over even the Speaker's bed, seemingly signifying the presence of the great man who slept there. The chamber it's self resembled the Sanctuary's rooms, and Arquen was half surprised it did not belong to any of them... but it would truly be a mighty addition. She could see why he chose to come here to focus upon his work... while there was a solitude to it all that those of the Black Hand tended to require, it would continually remind him of his true home in the city below. She had to give it to him... he certainly knew how to furnish a place of refuge.

And then, there was her handsome Imperial host himself, standing cordially before her, waiting to take her sweeping, smooth black velvet cloak and her things and greet her properly. She studied him more closely then she had the chamber with clear relish, for, like herself, he had discarded of his robes for the time being.

He stood before another table, a rounded one he had pulled to the centre of the chamber close to the ladder, and set it over the lone circular rug in the entire place. Atop the candle lit table lay the spread of full dishes for their dinner and many bottles of Mead and fine assorted Wines, the mixture of nearly intoxicating aromas of the dishes already making it's way over to her and attempting to entice her as he himself already did her. Their utensils and respective plates had already been set, as well as a pair of straight backed chair close beside each other. A glass vase resided on the table, half full with water, and holding the clipped stems of Nightshade with their full leaves and dark berries, just as they were over at his alchemical table. Yet, even this welcome sight of food, poisonous flowers and liquors were of little importance when compared to the man who had prepared it all for her benefit so carefully.

For the occasion, he had dressed far more casually then she, having selected a pair of fine leather trousers, as dark as the Void, and a buttoned up dress shirt of a dark green tint, as well as a pair of carefully stitched leather shoes. Each of these things conformed well to his tall, slender yet powerful and sinewy frame in a way even the robes had not been able to do. The Black Hand robes always left much to the imagination for both of them... and as such, although Arquen loved the power of wearing her own set, also enjoyed the occasions they shared together where they might rid their bodies of such confining attire for one another's eyes. Her own pair travelled up to his warm, courteous face, which wore a gentle, receptive smile. As ever, the dark shading of stubble resided there still, and as ever, she herself was pleased to see it again, for it brought out further not only his immeasurable attractiveness, but proved a companion to the dark lulling hazel of his eyes.

Gone, and most welcomely so for Arquen, was the Imperial's obstructing hood, and for the first time in many weeks, she could glimpse in it's entirety what lay beneath. His own shoulder length, midnight black hair had been tied back in a long ponytail, extenuating every detail of his smooth features, every line crossing his forehead. Although Lucien reached middle age, this did little to nothing to diminish him... for there was, in spite of the thick layers of experience, knowledge and power in his eyes, a youthful vitality, beauty and stamina she knew that had not ebbed since first she had met him. This was only increased by the fact not a shade of grey had yet passed into his hair, as many other Imperials of his age found... but then, she had long suspected it was their wonderful lifestyle free of normal constraints that gave most of them such long lasting mortal youth in appearance... as if the bathing in the blood and bits of flesh that had soaked into each of their own fleshes proved an elixir of youth and life passed unto the killer by their victims in the throes of death. She had every reason to suspect this theory of hers was scientific fact, a belief that she not only implemented into her own day to day life be the chosen morally pure or otherwise, but one that only increased each time she glimpsed him... though to be sure, the drinking of Vampiric blood could possibly have played a role in achieving such effects on him... the magical quality's in such a liquid. Her heart quickened within herself at the mere sight of him, and she savoured him for the longest of times, already wishing to perform the deed her mind, body and soul in perfectly harmonious tandem had been long looking forward to.

He merely smiled... knowing her thoughts already, and although that smile held warmness for her, in it's depths was a cruelty that rivalled her own, and this spurred her desires ever further. Something primordial and innate stirred within her being, heart quickening, a savage steely haziness of sorts that passed over her mind, threatening to consume her and send her into an unstoppable frenzy of simultaneous lust and bloodlust to sate her desires. She had long associated this occurrence with her Dread Father... that it was His own unique relationship with her, her desires the extension of His own whisperings... but with a deepening breath, she forced her voice to speak over this sudden nearly overwhelming vital red state of desire that came to her so often in his presence, yet it did not abate, remaining cloaked about her in a way her material one even could not.

"You are a gift from Sithis Himself, dear Lucien", Her nearly spent, breathless voice managed, and his pleased smile deepened that much more. "Attractiveness and deadliness bound together in one magnificent earthly form. The things I would do to you _now_... were the evening not yet _so _young."

"_Patienc_e, dearest Arquen... you need but to be patient", His low, powerful voice requested simply, a voice she long had succumb to. "I would hate to have all my work for tonight simply foregone for the main course... as you were so fond of doing in the old days... and still are, of course. Finding all the proper ingredients was no simple feat, I admit, much less preparing it. You have come a long way... you more then deserve the nourishment of fine food as well as the satisfaction of the _other... _yet the other can wait."

Arquen's mental haze remained, yet his words nevertheless cut through their depths with startling ease. Her hunger for the man himself was at the forefront of her mind when compared to the meal... but somewhere in those depths he penetrated, she _did_ first wish to speak of her business there... for she would be shaming her Mother in putting her duties second as others might. Yet, knowing even _this_ did little. Beneath her calm lips, her teeth were clenched in an effort to seep away some of the obstructing cloud of aggression and rippling need. Her years had taught her to push beyond her own desires on occasion, yes... but it had been everything but simple, the same as it was now. For her Dark Brother's sake, for _his _wishes more then her own, she gradually began to fight it with more effort. She had not gone through all the time and effort to make herself up simply to throw all their plans aside in the breeze... no matter how much she wished to.

"Then I will have you for afters", the Altmer Speaker vowed at last quietly as the haze began to recede with reluctance. The idea being placed into words encouraged her, and she smiled a tiny, cruel smile to match his own beautiful dark one. "There are indeed... _other _matters to see to first."

Remembering herself, she drew up to her fullest height, at least a full head taller then he, her smile simpering down his way. She became in that moment the proper lady her people would have all their Elven women be: elegance, sophistication, beauty and class, though she failed perhaps in some regard, due to her distinct lacking in visible haughtiness. Nearly unconsciously in the action's subtlety, she pulled lightly at the shoulder of her cloak, indicating her wish for it to be parted from her body. Lucien, as ever the gentlemen he was, picked up on this signal at once... however before doing so, took one of the stems of Nightshade from it's vase at the table and moved to her. Shortening the stem, courtly as ever in her presence, his hands moved to her hood, and realizing his intent, she breathed softly in anticipation of his touch. He drew back her hood, and she shook out her hair before he rose the Nightshade to her and placed it delicately into the layers of her hair, just above her ears, and a spasm fluttered in her heart at the beauty of their long lasting courtship. He stepped slowly around her, moving to her back and taking either shoulder into his steady, strong hands, the smooth velvet material to his palm like the feathers of a black Nightingale. Arquen drew in another fresh breath, desire again threatening to win out, yet held it, as he pealed the remainder of it away from covering her entire body. Lucien, wrapping up her cloak, took her bundle of things as well, leaving her arm free to move down to her hip, and drew back slightly towards the table, so as to study her in her entirety for himself.

"Well, dearest Brother... what do you think?", The High Elf asked of him with a knowing, rather sultry look. "Is it lovely... or is it lovely?"

Lucien's lips parted against himself in a rare display of surprise. His fellow Speaker of the Black Hand stood now before him clad in the finest gown of a dark crimson and black material he had ever before seen. It covered her entire willowy form as the cloak had done, spilling out freely like a living wraith-like entity over top her long legs, feet and the floor beneath them, obscuring each. The floor length gown had been painstakingly fitted to her curvacious hourglass shaped body, a number of laces, catches, buttons and straps and belts making up a nearly breath stopping velvet corset apart of the gown that reminded Lucien distantly of the shrouded armour they had each worn before, as others still did. It pushed her modest breast further upward, giving her towering height an even more statuesque appearance, at which she wore a necklace of silver he had never seen her wear before, one that also seemed to peer back at him... it took him but a moment to realize that attached to it was an actual severed human eye encased carefully within the sphere of glass. He had seen her wearing similar and greatly varying trophy's before... and based upon the freshness of this one, it had been collected only recently. Her slender arms were covered as well by long gloves of elegant yet practical black suede that confined to each not tightly, but comfortably. Proudly glistening in the candlelight, affixed to all ten of her fingers, sat a single golden band on each, each mounted with a priceless and flawless gem, be it a burning ruby, a cool sapphire or the glistening white of a diamond, adding very much to the image of wealth she was undertaking. His taken eyes passed back up to her no longer hooded and shadowed features, cast aside from the darkness by the candle light of the table.

The smooth texture of her pale golden flesh peered right back at him, it's effect glowing to his perceptions. Every detail of her matured, worldly features was extenuated by carefully applied make up for his benefit, regardless of the fact he firmly believed she did not require it. Her smiling, luscious lips were brought out ever further by an application of blood red lipstick... but then, knowing her as he did, it could very well have been the real thing. Rouge had been applied to her carefully to her full cheeks, and her warm, emotional brown eyes, as well as her thin brows, had been shadowed in layers of darkness, giving further credence to her base nocturnal nature. Below each of her eyes, however, in opposition of the darkness, she had taken the time to paint a pair of small almost tattoo-like white flowers that ran from either side of the bridge of her nose and up and around until their pedals fell short at the halfway mark of each eye, stunningly defining and framing the darkness of her brows and lashes with her Elven nature. She had smelled of fine perfume, of the sweetest vanilla in existence, when he had drawn closer to take her cloak from her... and the scent continued to tantalize his senses with their rooted presence, infesting and staying with him even now, ever tempting him, as was her intent it would seem. Her hair, a beautiful coppery blonde, fell perfectly and freely in layered abundance over the entirety of her already covered shoulders, not a one of them out of place. It had not been overly done up... for she had already knew his deepest preferences... and this touch, as well as each of the others, quickened him immeasurably. The final thing became apparent to him, and it was without these she would not have been complete without, for her hood obscured them continually, amongst other things.

The tips of her long pointed Elven ears, above one of which rested comfortably the deathly poisonous stem of Nightshade, protruded up through her hair, and with this, she was as he had scarcely seen her before in some time, truly resembling a fanciful Lady or elaborate Princess straight from the ancient Aelid texts or from what had once been her own home province of the Summerset Isles. Yet... there was more to the sophistication, to the elegance, and it was this that drew him in as powerfully as her attire and charms did. It was as if she had been birthed in the darkest corners of the Nirn... for, already knowing her true self, her habits, in detail as so few living did, the crimson and black gave visible proof to the glorious illusion of civility she had suspended both physically and mentally about herself whenever it was required.

The Imperial was, for a time, at a loss for words... something that occurred so rarely in his lifetime... but he rallied nearly at once, as was his way, the rapid thudding of his heart gradually balancing out.

"If _I_ am a gift of Sithis, dearest Sister... as you so honour me...", Lucien spoke at last, more slowly then before, as if considering each word as carefully as he had considered her. "...then _you _are surely an unholy image of beauty only the Night Mother could possibly have weaved together."

An almost gloating smile passed over Arquen at this humbling compliment... for to be compared to her Matron was incalculable in it's value to her... nevertheless, she purposefully teased him.

"_Please_, Lucien... you give me _too _little honour."

"Ah yes, and there's the proper Altmer attitude to accompany the look... it was only a matter of time I suppose. Better late then never, it is often said."

Arquen laughed freely, a high carrying yet feminine laugh that echoed about the chamber, and Lucien chuckled soon after, still marvelling in her appearance.

"But truthfully", Lucien continued on, studying her extenuated features, the white painted flowers under her eyes, his hold tightening on her bundle of things at his side. "I really will never understand why you believe you must wear makeup for these occasions... you are already complete without it. Alas, such is the mind boggling nature of nearly all women, I suppose."

"There is nothing wrong with wanting to look even better for a man, Lucien", Arquen replied with mock irritation, raising a single thin eyebrow. "Although it would seem some of you insufferable Imperial types don't appreciate the extra little effort being taken for you, now don't you? It makes me wonder why I even bother. It took nearly an hour to apply all this... and probably far longer to get into the dress it's self."

"_Oh_, I appreciate the effort... and very much so", Lucien contradicted her silkily, his eyes moving admiringly back to the front of her gown. With this sentiment, Arquen dropped her facade of indignation and arrogance and whirled around slowly, gracefully, so he could see how it behaved through movements. It fluttered about her body as if caught in a sudden gust of wind, rising up slightly and revealing her dark leather, strap and buckle covered boots beneath and her equally dark, confining leggings, until she at last came to a stop, visibly excited with her own display. "And where, may I ask, did you acquire such a marvellous dress in your travels? Not to say you cannot make one yourself... merely that this one holds the uniqueness surely of a world renowned designer. Again... not to say it wasn't you."

"Flattery _shall_ get you _everywhere_, dear brother", Arquen replied smoothly, adjusting the velvet dress as she too lowered her gaze and examined it, the surface of her gloved hands passing over the numerous buttons of the corset. "...but _no_, it was not _I_ who created this stunning masterpiece of dress ware. _This _dress is but one of the many benefits that come to those great individuals such as we. It pays to have wealth... and other particular expertise, to be sure."

"I take it from your cryptic tone then that this was... ah, not an altogether legitimate purchase, to use the words of the Imperial Watch?", Lucien enquired placidly, already guessing the outcome of the welcome answer, and the messy results.

"Oh, it was... _well_...", Arquen reconsidered her words, an unhealthy glint shining in a region beyond even her darkened eyes that Lucien caught at once, and in a glint of candlelight, the brown of her eyes was nearly scarlet, should one look at them for too long. She turned them back up to him... and the undistilled insanity within her being peeked ravenously back out at him like an ancient intruder in another's body, as though from behind the rim of a looking glass.

"Then again... not _entirely_ so perhaps. You caught me, dear brother... I _suppose _I was a little naughty about it. I bought it in the Imperial City, almost a couple weeks ago... when I was returning from Bruma. I'd been considering getting a little something to surprise you since you requested my presence here... but my visit to J'Ghasta took precedence first. After I was done in Bruma, I made a small detour on my way to the Skingrad Sanctuary... because, well, I saw no legitimate reason to put it off. It was _on _my route... and the Imperial City has the best stores for such dresses, not to be derisive of any of the other dress stores along Cyrodiil, merely that those are more homely in appearance then elegant. It was made by a fellow Altmer, actually... at that aptly named Divine Elegance place... though it was made none too agreeably, unfortunately for her. I arrived in the dead of the night, for what other time is better for necessary transactions? Needless to say, she was far from overjoyed at the lateness of my arrival... she was something entirely different from overjoyed, actually, but I convinced her to change her mind. She worked pretty well when it came right down to it... locked the door again after me without complaint, kept quiet at first fitting me carefully, measurements... sewing... the whole thing was rather amazing to watch. Trembling hands are usually cause for incompetent work... but she was something of an exception. She wasn't even very tired for long, and she sped right up with my blade resting against her throat, when it was required."

"If she had any flaws to speak of, it was that she was rather talkative throughout much of the process, to be honest... oh you know how it is Lucien, the pleading, the begging... 'my family needs me', 'just let me live, I won't tell the guards I swear'... and she simply didn't know how to stop the flapping of her tongue. The begging is only welcome for awhile... but it becomes old hat fairly quickly as the night goes on, particularly when you wish for something more then pleading from them. I put an end to that quickly enough, and by then she knew I meant business, and swiftly shut up before the option no longer existed for her. She finished up the dress as dawn approached, sweating, bloodied, though careful not to stain the dress, and showed me the mirror so I might see it in it's entirety... and I have to say, I was nearly satisfied. Nearly. And again, I feel I've got to give it to her, she did it all perfectly with those shaky hands... and you know, there really is something to owning the last dress or garment a master clothier ever created... you understand what I mean? It's like it's own form of art in a way, no matter how beautiful and lasting it is, it's only worth anything when the maker is gone... not that I'll _ever_ be parting ways with this. I had been considering letting the dear girl go... she had done so well and served me with equal diligence... _but_, I _really_ couldn't help myself. She'd given me something, but there was still more I wished of her... _much _more, so I took it."

"It was quite satisfying... but not for very long, actually... the brightest flames burn out the quickest and all that. I daresay wearing her dress was and still is more thrilling even then what I did to her. In any event, I got what I came for, and I payed her generously for her rendered services... I left a handsome payment right there on the counter. I'm sure it'll be a shame for the more frequent customers that I was her final customer, but she has a sister who works there as well... I suppose she was out for the evening or something... it would have been nice to meet her as well. Anyways, she might be needing a little time to reset things back into order, to recover herself, but at least the family business will continue in some form I'm sure. Business like that is in the veins of Imperial City merchants, regardless of any gender or race. I left rather quickly afterwards, lest the guards bungle onto the scene as they so often seem to do, you'd think they were almost psychic the way they operate, sometimes. I suppose you could say that particular evening was eventful... and quite welcome after the dreariness and the cold of Bruma... probably the most eventful thing of the whole journey, to be honest."

Arquen paused, having wrapped up her little account, yet the maleficent glint remained for another moment or so before retreating from sight, and she returned to their present, smiling prettily to her Imperial host, who himself had listened with complete attention. He merely returned her smile, and nodded. Arquen, although quite messy in her affairs, but then again that in it's self was beautiful, had always stirred something even darker within himself then he had thought possible. She had always brought about death and destruction in a way that occasionally managed to surprise even he with it's beautiful depravity... in many regards, the things he had learned from her since they had met, her many ideas, were as special to him as those he had learned from Vicente. Despite the disadvantages her lack of... stability, brought about... the advantages were equally wonderful to not only him, but the Dark Brotherhood, a kind of unpredictability to her. It was refreshing to hear the way she spoke of her killings, the passion prevalent in and oozing from each syllable.. for he had already watched many such deaths unfold at her hands... he could see the quickening within her spirit as she relived it. Even if her ways were not his own, he welcomed her unique views as much as her equally unique brand of insanity... a fanatical insanity only barely kept in check enough to operate as a Speaker. That was not to say she was a poor Speaker, the very opposite of it, for had not the Night Mother chosen her? The fact was, he had never questioned her loyalty to Them, and never could. It was a simple impossibility to do so. Vicente had been quite right in his assessment about her, and about himself, his own interests in her... he had been from the start.

"I wish you had been there... it would have been even more enjoyable", Arquen spoke again warmly, her eyes again simpering to him slyly. "Surprising how much more fun it is to share, in certain cases."

"And I wish I had been there, dearest Sister", Lucien confessed in turn, meaning it, his mind awashed in the wondrous possibility's of what that night in the Imperial City had held for her, in how it may or may not have looked... and how differently it may have played out if he had been there to partake in the reaping. He glanced back in the direction of the cabinet close to his bed, then readjusted her cloak and the bundle of items he held for her. "Yet you are here now... and it is _this_ that matters the most. I'll just put your things away, and we can begin with the night's festivity's."

"Of course, dearest Brother... the walk up here has certainly more then built up my appetite", Arquen replied agreeably as her fellow Speaker crossed the chamber, bound for the particular cabinet to stow them away in. As he opened it, readjusted a few things here or there to make room for everything, she returned her attention to the dank Chamber about her, marvelling again every little detail, every nook and cranny and the eerie atmosphere the place provided. She moved a little ways from the rope ladder, her long dress rustling over the floor, a bit closer to the table, and she uttered a quiet laugh as she studied a particular section of the floor, a thought coming to her.

"What is so amusing, dear sister?", Lucien's quiet yet carrying voice asked of her as he finished up his task. Closing up the cabinet with a gentle creaking of it's hinges, he made his way back to Arquen's side near the table, himself considering the point of interest her excited eyes focused on. Hands free, he held them behind himself loosely. "Surely you've born witness to a great many lairs such as my own in your life."

"Of course Lucien... it's just this place is so beautiful... but have you considered putting in a nice torture pit down there beneath the stone?", She asked at last, eyes glittering again in his direction. "Or installing something over near your work area? You know, bring in a few tools, some racks and some more work tables to accommodate the equipment. The screams and whimpering perhaps would have served a nice accompaniment for our time here together... far better even then a hired bard to dispose of afterwards together, you remember when we did that? By Sithis... the _look _on his face after we were finished our dance... when he asked for his payment..."

"However could I forget?", Lucien replied smoothly as she succumbed to high laughter again, her lovely features glowing more brightly and vibrantly at him, full of life, the vivid memories of that warm night in Sun's Height returning and swirling through each of them as though it had been yesterday and not years prior... the intensity still fresh. "It was my own idea... I was certainly quite glad you liked it."

"The best gift of that evening", Arquen assured him, her laughter subsiding after some time. Her eyes became a little more intent, predatory, and her gloved hand moved up from her side and falling gently upon his cheek, fingers beginning to caress his lips rhythmically. The hunger threatened to return to her, but she again fought it back, another myriad of images passing through her, each bringing back the past aroma and sensation of sweat and heat oozing freely from seemingly every pore, as appetites were sated. "Well... the second best. Yet what of my own idea? Have you considered bringing in a few 'victims' for a little experimentation?"

"I _did_, for a little while", The Imperial admitted, peering back up into her quickened eyes, relishing the way in which they studied him, the power he held to produce that such effect from him. "Yet, I'm afraid even though I'm no Vampire, I take more after Vicente when it comes to leaving my victims corpses littering my place of work... I don't hold his repugnance for the idea however, I don't equate it to leaving waste around one's home, it is more for matters of pragmatism. I don't wish to burden myself unnecessarily having to set up such a pit, nor cleaning out their bodies once I am done with them and disease settles in, with all the other affairs I must handle simultaneously... besides, although I'll have to give it a try one day, I would not have any of their screaming interrupt your lovely voice, dearest sister, when you visit."

Arquen was quite pleased with this answer, and beamed brightly as he inclined his head respectfully.

"You always say the sweetest things, brother, I _thank _you", The Altmer Speaker informed him, continuing to explore his face with her hand, and a relaxing sensation fell over the Imperial, and for a time he felt as though adrift on a body of water. Finally, her exploration subsided, and she forced herself back away from her true hunger, resisting the burning, stinging in her mind that screamed to lash out and take what was rightfully hers. She gazed back down at the dinner that awaited her, hoping it would prove a welcome distraction from her true self, and again Lucien was so wonderfully quick on the uptake. He drew the closest chair from the table and held it on either side until, smiling, she took the offered seat gratefully, smoothing out the material of her gown as she crossed her exquisitely long legs one over the other. She sat entirely upright, not out of a desire for elegance, it would seem, but the dress it's self for all it's beauty was nearly as confining as Gogron's own suit of steel. Still, she wore it more proudly then she ever had any dress, prior masterpieces, each pale excuses compared to this one, before it. She continued to gaze at him more hungrily then she did at the meal, as his took his own seat closely beside her.

"Think nothing of it... I speak but the truth", Lucien replied quietly, and he took the closest bottle of red wine, preparing to pour her and himself a glass, studying her lurking eyes. "Wine, or Mead?"

"I say we should save the harder drinks for _after _the meal, when the real party begins", Arquen suggested smoothly, considering it only for a moment. "So, wine for now."

"You read my mind, as ever."

"Someone has to... and I don't even need to be an immortal to do so either."

With that final note, the two Speakers of the Black Hand dished up, each of them taking a bit of everything, fresh corn, scarlet and violet fleshed potato, mixtures of colourful vegetables, a particularly wide assortment of meats Arquen's fork hovered over quite frequently, and wild rices, amongst a great many other dishes he had prepared for them painstakingly that evening, and returned their attention to their respective tall crystalline glasses of wine, each raising it in the others direction respectfully.

"Another toast then, dearest Brother? I was looking forward to hearing another from you... I hope you will not disappoint by delegating the honour to me speaking instead."

Lucien studied her hopeful, amused face from over his drink, and disappointing her was the furthest thing from his mind that evening.

"Whichever that is your preference tonight is my own as well", Lucien answered silkily, raising his glass ever higher, an action she copied in turn. "I propose this particular toast not only to the Mother and Father who brought us together... but to _you_, Arquen... to your unceasing faith that carried you forth across Cyrodiil to give tidings of warnings... and most importantly, your _safe _return to me. I thank Sithis for this above all else."

Arquen's heart swelled within the confines of her dress, and were not blush, amongst the other makeups already applied so carefully to her golden face, he would see the true one lurking beneath it, not altogether different from that of Antoinetta's manner, it occurred to Lachance wryly. His handsome face peered back at her in the candle light... and their glasses touched with a beautiful twinkling, and they drank slowly, as one. After their respective sips, Arquen lowered her glass first, and there was one particular action she could _not _forgo until the evening drew to a close. Leaning herself closer to him, her full, rich lips enveloped his own thin pair, and she kissed him soothingly, her hand stealing to his own and caressing it. He returned her passion nearly at once, still holding his own glass, until she drew backwards slowly, still smiling, another flush rising to her features.

"You were still worried about me, dear Brother? After everything you've seen me do... all I've shown you? This touches me... deeply so."

"I did not believe you would be killed... not truly. I assure you, there was no doubt in me regarding your capability's, in your safe return... yet... I admit, I worry. I do not worry for myself, and never have... rather I worry for the Brotherhood at this time, for my family and I worry very much for you as well. This traitor is an unknown factor... and in spite of your strengths... they very well could have attacked you anyways. I would not have this. Would not have such a thing occur to you. I knew you would perform your task and succeed... but the very thought of this traitor even attempting such an ambush out there on the road upon you sickens me as greatly as the ambushes and murders they have already committed successfully on our children. I will _not _lose anyone else I love, so long as it can be avoided."

His tone was rather quiet and collected, yet she felt the unrivaled coldness, cruel anger coursing through him like a glacial chemical, filling his veins, and she kissed him again, not only out of love, but in the hopes of taking some of it into herself, feeding upon the lovely rawest of emotion's, his hatred, and making it one with her own, her hand again rising to his stubble lined face and caressing it pleasurably.

"I'm not going anywhere, dearest Brother... you and I will freeze this heresy in it's tracks... and we will bring the tidings of our Mother to the source of this infection, our remedy laying in our respective blades."

"I share the same sentiment, dearest sister", he told her, running a hand through her hair, a cold smile forming that matched her own. "We have only just begun... but we will see this thing to the end."

"Precisely", she whispered assuredly.

They continued to gaze at one another, their respective eyes shadowed, as though their hoods had been adorned once more, Arquen's by her makeup, Lucien's by the angle he leaned from the candle, until the aromas of their meal retook a hold of their focuses, and they drew back from one another. Taking their time, they continued on with dinner, raising up their utensils and beginning to consume it in silence for a time. Occasionally, they gave away glances to one another in the glow of the light, but for the most part, their unspoken communication seemed to occur on an entirely different level... not literal telepathy as some Vampires or magicians were capable of, but one of understanding few but she had been able to do for him. In between bites, wiping his lips with a napkin, Lucien eventually spoke, leaning back comfortably in his seat halfway through his first plate, hands intertwining comfortably as he studied his sister, who herself lowered her fork and examined him, already interested in the curiosity passing his features.

"So tell me, dearest sister", He began their conversation, raising an inquisitive brow. "This journey of yours... you have said it was uneventful... was it a success nevertheless?"

"_Oh no_", Arquen started at once, shaking her head and uttering a sudden laugh, herself leaning back in her seat, adjusting it slightly. "I only want to get into all that once we've broken out the Mead... I'd much rather hear about what you've been up to first... for instance, what of that Breton girl you've saved? What of the Cheydinhal Family and your own affairs with the Black Hand?"

Lucien smile partially, and ever the gracious host, answered the questions she put to him.

"The Breton girl you speak of, Antoinetta Marie... is a most welcome addition to the family. She was close to death when I found her, but she has mostly recovered, and nears the end of this recovery as we speak. She is intelligent, soft spoken... sometimes, already ambitious in her dreams... and deadly, be it with poison or the blade. I am certain she will find her youthful appearance of great use in her contracts, lulling her victims into a state of comfort before striking... such is the way with many like her. The Family has embraced her with open arms and minds... as I knew they would... and I am told she all but pleaded for her first contract not two days ago, and carried it out quite successfully. In short, she is truly one with the family... and the Night Mother did well to bring her to us."

"That sounds perfectly lovely and all... but you are avoiding something, Lucien", Arquen informed him, her sensual smile deepening. There was something accusatory to it, and not only humorous, but intent and sharp, as if she herself could not decide which she was trying to be. The eye encased within it's glass on her necklace peered back at him with the same predatory accusation, it's iris a deep and cold blue. "I was not referring specifically to her capability's... rather, was I right in my original thoughts of her?"

"Whatever do you mean by that?", Lucien replied, feigning obliviousness, tilting his head partially as though curious.

"Don't play coy, dearest brother... you can't fool me and you know it. This girl, she was attracted to you... they _all_ are, and we _all _know it. Tell me the extent of this particular girl's attraction."

Lucien adjusted his collar, pretending to be uncomfortable under the heat of her powerful gaze, a faint smirk taking over.

"Ah, _that's _what you meant... well now, yes, I suppose you were right, to a certain degree, I will grant. She was... uh, somewhat taken with me... but then it was really nothing worth noting. Really, the poor girl has either been alone or used for much of her life... it was far from expected for her to develop... a... well, fixation upon me, for what she believes I gave her. It is, flattering, but no more then that, I assure you."

"I _knew _it", Arquen smirked right back shaking her head slowly, the rich strands of her copper hair moving about with it. "You have yourself a little adoring fan... you had better be careful the next time you drop by there, or she'll end up following you around... or kissing you."

Lucien was silent, and this silence gave him away immediately, for he could not tell a lie. She could see through him as well as he could see through her, and her dark eyes widened slightly. She was clearly withholding her true thoughts on the matter, her hands interlocking, and luring him with an omnipresent rope. He would have to tread lightly from here on, lest it find a way about his throat.

"She has already kissed you, hasn't she? Why does _that _not surprise me so? Have you more you wish to tell me, Lucien, to perhaps abate my possible fury? I'd rather recommend it if I were in your position."

Lucien wasn't fooled, by the end of the evening she'd have let it all out... but another iridescent smile touched his lips.

"Merely that she did it to thank me, and I did not return her affections", Lucien answered silkily, leaning a little ways closer to his fellow Speaker, who by comparison was entirely motionless. "I assure you, we both know I would know better then to purposefully cross you, as you are wise enough not to do the same of me, dearest sister. That particular form of love belongs exclusively to you, and deception of my family is not my way. I was not made a Speaker for such a reason as that any more then you were for clumsiness."

This answer seemed to satisfy her, to a degree at least, but Lucien knew already she would take the anger she was visibly repressing and she would unite it with her desires for that evening. Mercifully, she dropped the subject altogether, for the time being.

"Oh, I know what belongs to me", she answered quietly, taking up her fork again to her meal, waving her hand as if that particular topic was of no further consequence. Nevertheless, she stabbed out at the thick, bloodied loin of meat taking up a great deal of her plate almost venomously, her stained knife shredding through the cooked flesh with skilled ease. Slowly, she rose the severed bit of rare meat she had taken to her lips, consuming it neatly, not leaving a single stain behind on her smooth mouth, before at last she continued to speak without blinking a single time. "And the Cheydinhal Family? How are they faring in these troubling times?"

Lucien studied both her and the contents of her meal more closely before taking his glass of wine again and sipping heavily from it. When he lowered it, he too continued on with his own dinner, pausing in between mouthfuls of mutton to speak.

"Better then before, with the child's presence there. When I brought her to the Sanctuary, I did so without warning them. It was my wish to give them a pleasant surprise... and I was right. All save Mraaj Dar accepted her arrival at once, not that such an outcome was at all surprising. I could not stay long that particular night however, but I have been told that Vicente got most of her ailments all treated that same night, and that Gogron was able to get her the... uh, proper nourishment. I was, however, invited to return the following week for a feast once Telaendril had returned from one of her tasks abroad... and on the particular night in question I was not so busy, so I went along. It was precisely what I needed, all of them gathered together, the communication with old friends, the food, the drink, the laughter. And yet, all was not entirely as perfect as it could have been... by no means am I ungrateful to our Father and Mother for bringing about the evening, but as a matter of fact, the one thing missing that would have made it all entirely complete, was yourself. Just as you too have indicated in your travels... I wish you had been there at my side."

At this Arquen was brought up from her cool silence, her narrowed brows returning to the kind mannered Imperial at her side, and she, and her necklace, seemed to appraise him for awhile. His smile bored right into her, as it had always done, and although she struggled not to let it effect the quantity of her anger, it was like struggling against a tidal wave courtesy of a hurricane. Gradually, her eyebrows loosened, and a reluctant smile touched her full lips. She folded her arms across her corset and pretended to pout like a spoiled child, causing Lucien to have to repress a chuckle. He reached over to the front of her gown, and took her necklace into one of his hands, turning it's orb of glass over slightly, revolving it.

"Do you think your flattering words are enough to save your lovely skin?", she asked smoothly as he released the contained eye and again turned his focus to the wine. "Do you think charisma will get you out of this alive?"

"Why _yes _I do", was his simple, truthful and unapologetic answer. "Have I reason not to?"

"Damn you brother... Sithis should open his mouth and swallow you right up sideways."

"You enjoy it."

"...I _do _actually."

With this, they peered at each other silently... before at last sharing a laugh, and she uncrossed her arms, eyes dancing again more warmly, yet it was all the warmth of silk concealing a blade, and they continued on with their prior conversation.

"It was good to catch up with each of them... for it had been months since my last lengthy visit. I spoke for some time with Vicente throughout the visit, of course. He sends his best wishes along to you, by the way... he spoke of you, and it would seem he has long already known the deepest nature of our relationship... from the start unless I am mistaken, far from surprising all things considered, but there it is. He didn't need to read my mind to know it either... one wonders how he managed to remain so mightily quiet all these years..."

"That bloody Vampire...", Arquen muttered, shaking her head slowly, but could not hold back a smirk of appreciation for his manner. "He knows far too much as it is for his own good... knowing him he would have been watching some of our... get together's, from a shadowy corner."

"I'm sure he'd find such a thought to be a compliment of his ability's and knowledge", Lucien replied swiftly, himself smirking rather knowingly. "You know what he's like with books... but then who am I to talk?"

Arquen rose her glass of wine again, and sipped until it was empty, and Lucien refilled it for her as he spoke again, a related thought coming to mind.

"You know, he related to the others the story of the Crimson Scars, actually... we already know it in it's entirety of course, yet his renewed discussion of it made me remember something that slipped into my subconscious. Why is it that we have never established a Sanctuary, or at least an outpost of sorts, out in Deepscorn Hollow? It resides near the Argonian border... having such a base in our grasp would be an advantage... perhaps where some of our Shadowscales could be brought to upon completion of their training."

This idea intrigued Arquen as much it had him, and he could see her carefully considering it, feeling her own necklace unconsciously, turning the eyeball about as he had done.

"You raise a very interesting point, dearest brother... it would be such a waste to let that place go on unused as it has been. We have more then enough resources for undertaking such an endeavour, so it is not a matter of cost... we are merely lacking in time, with all _this _going on at the moment. We should remember to bring this to the attention of the others once the current situation has been resolved... the place would be of far more use after a makeover... why didn't I think of it?"

"Don't worry about it, dearest Arquen... it only just occurred to me as well", The Imperial Speaker admitted to her in turn, uttering a low laugh. "Strange how these things sometimes manage to evade us... in any case, the Hollow, once occupied with our presence, would serve a greater purpose to the Brotherhood... _far _more then it's former owner did, it would seem... though to be sure, that does not take much to do."

The Speaker's laughed coldly again, the sounds carrying on the very air around them and reverberating into an echo off the walls, the laugh rather knowing, with one another, again raising their drinks together and touching them as though they were one. After another comfortable silence in which they drank, Arquen was the first to finish her glass, and she sighed quietly, her shadowed eyes glinting again, crinkling slightly and partially cracking the white facepaint below each and sending a series of lines running through them, betraying the gold flesh obscured beneath.

"Greywyn's death shall seem insignificant when compared to the even lengthier one we put the new traitor through... but ah, Greywyn's and those of his idiotic followers were so very _just_. Anyways, do continue dear brother."

"Indeed so... the evening was welcome, but it ended far quicker then I had wished it to. I stayed the night over rather then returning here... and I made my departure the following night instead. Really, there was not a whole lot else to it all... a rejuvenating family get together, just as you have them."

"I _see_... well I'm most certainly glad to hear you were able to visit your family again.", Arquen replied as she returned a portion of her focus to the small remainder of food on her plate. "And tell me... what of your affairs with the Black Hand? What have you been up to in that regard, as of late?"

"Mainly drawing up the contracts Ungolim has been sending and passing them along to the Sanctuary's.. none too special, but each one is important in their own way, for it is all the Night Mother's will, is that not true?"

The pair of Speakers fell into warm, comfortable conversation on the matter, as well as the topic of the Cheydinhal and Chorrol Family's, during which they finished up the remainder of their meal before dishing up all over again. Their appetites were only risen ever higher in one another's close presence, and while they each had consumed two plates of food respectively, only a part of their desires were abated... while the other surmounted at being put off for so long. Lucien, with his nearly unparallelled willpower, kept it from showing visually... but he spotted the exact opposite stirring in Arquen, for now and again he caught that voracious unhealthy glint in her eyes, eyes that lingered on his own quite often without blinking, or perhaps it was her long, slim tongue gliding across her blood red lips. Her easily decipherable body language gave away her intentions and thoughts, as she leaned closer now and again, or shifted about in her seat uncomfortably, a hand stirring down in her lap, straightening out the material of her gown meticulously. As they finished up their wine, the effects gradually caught up to them, but were not yet there. At last, consuming the rest of their respective meals, Arquen picking off the last bit of flesh and tendons from a long pointed joint, her earlier sloppily stained plate now entirely clean, allowing nothing to go to waste, Lucien moved aside the Wine, and began to fill their emptied glasses with a sizable measure of Mead. The topic that had been prevalent in his mind drew it's self again vocally, hoping also to give another focus to his own desire of her, and hers of him, yet aware the Evening was beginning to die down, he asked it of the beautiful Altmer.

"So, dearest sister... what of this journey of yours?", He asked again as he consumed his own mead, savouring each relaxing sensation the honey enriched liquor swirled into his senses and bloodstream. "I wish there were an alternative to bringing the evening back to the Traitor, yet we both know the necessity of doing so."

"Of course, brother", Arquen replied assuredly, simpering again in his direction as she began to drink more heavily even then he. She was already on to her second glass of mead, to say nothing of the bottle of wine she had just finished, yet her voice was as steady as it had ever been. "I suppose I'd better start from the beginning... when last we parted ways."

"You have my complete focus", Lucien informed her, leaning back again comfortably in his seat, his eyes and ears not leaving her for a moment. "Take your time, we yet have some of it to spare."

"Very well then... I suppose I've been putting it off long enough as it is, better to get it out of the way. I made my way up to Bruma without event, other then the fact it was nearly cold enough to freeze my steed in his tracks... he's down in the valley by the way, at the Cheydinhal horse stall... I didn't want to bring him here when he deserves a nice stall for undertaking such a long journey with me. I visited J'Ghasta first, as you know, and rather then rendering myself invisible, I slipped into the city disguised as a simple visitor... we both know the importance of blending in with the locals now and again... even if the urge to wear our robes exclusively has occurred quite often. As I did with most of the City's on my route, I took a room in one of the inn's out there. I think you would have enjoyed it up their if you'd accompanied me... you'd think the city was a mere extension of Skyrim's borders, its mostly Nord establishments up there of course. I wouldn't be surprised if they claimed sovereignty over it one day... the Empire would be hard put challenging such a claim... peacefully so, at least. I went to J'Ghasta's home, and needless to say he was surprised to see me up and about in his area. I told him what I came for, but he seemed to know already... we discussed the Traitor situation for quite awhile... and it seems the matter isn't of the most pressing nature to him. Unfortunately, since he's next in line as Listener... I think he believes he should take more after Ungolim's approach, I think."

"He isn't convinced entirely that there is a Traitor amongst us, and I could do little to change his mind. He's certain our missing brethren... and at this I'm afraid I rather lost my temper, got themselves killed along the way by bandits, animals or some other such damn thing and dragged off into a cave somewhere. Thus far only our lowest ranking Murderers have gone missing, and as he did not actually know any them, he does not think they had much in the way of skill. I told him how utterly stupid that line of thinking was, about each of their worth, but he was not particularly moved by my words... or my anger. Brothers and sisters had died before, he said calmly, in fact, they died all the time, and violently so... but he was confusing _failed contracts_ with actual _disappearances_, and he simply wasn't listening to me anymore, if indeed he even had been from the start... I'd probably distracted him from that damn time consuming training schedule of his, and he was rather keen on throwing me out as quickly as he could. The most I could get out of his cooperation is that he took the warning under advisement, and will pass along anything suspicious he might hear to us with all due haste. Apparently he is quite busy passing along contracts the Bruma Sanctuary... to say nothing of his constant idiotic need to hone his skills every other second, and has more pressing matters then the possibility of a traitor running amok and tearing us asunder... so, to put it simply, I was _wasting_ my time... it was clear from the moment he answered the door. His family has not yet suffered a single disappearance... so what more from him could be expected? He does not understand us, our vigour and concern on this matter, and I could not convince him. I left of course, left him to his delusions, but before I departed Bruma entirely and took back to the Silver Road, I went to his Sanctuary and warned the Mistress there what has been occurring, just in case he happened to 'forget', his mind so preoccupied elsewhere then his true duties. I did not particularly enjoy having to fulfill the duties of a fellow Speaker and a friend... but I do _not_ regret it either. I shouldn't have had to do it to begin with... it was _his _task, this is all our tasks to see through, not merely my own as he would have it be."

"Still... I took a tour of the Sanctuary before I was to leave Bruma... yet again before I made my way down towards Skingrad, I visited J'Ghasta's own Silencer who was staying up in the mountain tops with that dog of his... you know, the Nord Havilstein. I didn't stay long, merely thought I'd relay our concerns, and like his Speaker in the city below, he was none too certain, but more grateful for the advance warning. I'm not sure why he stays up there, but I guess it's as good a hiding place as any... and better then some. Probably feels more at home there then in a lodge or apartment. So, I continued on. Of course I already told you of my little... detour, in the Imperial City, so I'll just note that other then receiving the dress there, it was a wonderful way to get out the anger J'Ghasta's foolishness and and insistence upon wasting my time induced. As I said, in some regards he's worse then you... hell, in most regards."

At this, Lucien chuckled from within his drink, muffling it, and inclined his head in agreement as she carried on with a little more amusement, her earlier irritation with J'Ghasta relaxing in the Imperial's presence, if only a little ways.

"I went to Skingrad next, and it was far less eventful... I had been hoping to find Uvani there, but I had just missed him by a day, so I stayed for a couple nights in the Sanctuary there after giving the same warning to the Master there, he promised to heed the information, and by day, I explored the city. It was far more enjoyable then hanging around the Sanctuary the whole time... for it was not my family, and the occupants, although paying lovely reverence and respect to me when I approached, stayed quite clear of me for the most part. I suppose rumours of the Traitor aren't the _only _ones going around. I was thinking about paying a visit to the Count of the city, you know that one Vicente likes to brag about knowing? An bedding, by all probability I am sure. I decided not to visit him though, he rarely has time for his own stewards any more as it is, much less a visit from the Brotherhood... and besides, he is smart enough to turn a blind eye to our affairs... without needing the customary coercion we've had to put other Count's and Countesses through invariably. I left the Sanctuary... and I have to say, most of the brothers and sisters there were rather relieved... it was almost funny the way they whispered to one another when they thought I could not hear... the fearful stories they passed to one another of my exploits... the way they huddled together as I passed through the corridors... or how they scattered like frightened mice when I crept up behind them and made my presence known."

"Anyways, my next stop, of course, was Kvatch...and fortunately it was a great deal more enjoyable. I met up with Shaleeze and Blanchard at the Sanctuary out there, actually, it would seem their investigation has carried them out that way... and they are staying there for now until they have to carry on... you are of course in touch with them through letter, yet they have sent along their best regards to you. We both know that unfortunately they have not turned up any solid leads yet... but still, they keep at it by night, and their determination, as with ours, has not waned in the slightest from the lack of results. Unfortunately, another missing brother, one from that Sanctuary, was the factor that brought our Silencers out there... and it was very nearly pointless to tell the Master there of the possible traitor, for such rumours were already running rampant in the Sanctuary. I could feel the fear and the misery from the moment I walked in, the distance and sorrow in a great many of their eyes. Still, I passed on the warning, recounted the prior disappearances to the Master of the home, and I chose not to remain as long as I had the other cities, I only stayed the night before continuing my travels."

"The Sanctuary had welcomed not only I, but our Silencers with open arms. I do not believe any more will disappear from that particular Sanctuary so long as Shaleeze and Blanchard remain there... for although this Traitor is undeniably insane in their goals, they do not strike me as being altogether stupid in how they are going about it. They will know the skills of our Silencers, and likely not make another move against us so close in their proximity... this is logical... I know this individual might, in their insanity, be everything _but _logical, yet I hope this is not so. We can use their logic against them... I'm sure you have drawn up numerous conclusions like that. If they have descended into outright insanity, however, it is clear their movements may be easier to track, in their blundering and so forth and lack of care... so really, there are advantages to both possible situations here, so long as we maintain our focus and not be discouraged."

"_Precisely_", Lucien agreed, smiling both at her obvious and refreshing care of the situation, and the irony of _her _speaking of logic and insanity together as though they were one and the same. "They may hold the advantage of anonymity, but we hold the advantage of readiness."

"My point exactly, dear Brother, you can read me like a book", She replied rather enticingly, flashing him another glowing look as she consumed her second glass of mead and went right on for the third. "I certainly hope it's remained an interesting one."

"Oh, I should think so", The Imperial replied quietly, his eyes drifting unconsciously again to the severed human eye she hung proudly about her neck. "Yet you were speaking of your Journey... the next stop in your travels was the lovely city of Anvil then, of course."

"Of course. I left our Silencers with all the encouragement I could offer, bid them and the Sanctuary farewell, and continued on the path to Anvil. Really, it _is_ such a beautiful city, along with the Gold Coast, even in the dead of the Evening Star... then again, they are probably more so at this time of year. Fields of white spreading out before me along the road... rooftops buried beneath the snow... the chill of the snowflakes descending in the moonlight and washing over me. It wasn't as cold as Bruma in the slightest though, and it was wonderful to be able to glimpse the open seas again and the simplistic yet welcoming seaside architecture, walking through the docks and seeing all the cottages, contemplating their occupants, visiting the shops, you know? There is a harmony there. I could have stayed for a month I think. Well, I paid visit to the Sanctuary there as I had the others, and the Mistress was ever so gracious to receive this warning, and I stayed for a day. They've not yet lost anybody, but... word travels as quickly and as fears. Being so far from the other Sanctuary's, they were eager to hear what was occurring from an actual source of information, and not the hearsay brought home by a travelling member of their family. A great many of the younger ones were particularly disquieted by my story... the older one's, more along the lines of angered."

"From what I heard awhile ago, the dear Silencer of Uvani's, Mathieu, that boy of yours you suggested to him, has a place somewhere in the city... yet I could not for the life of me recall where. The location must have been in my notes somewhere, but some of them I had forgotten in the desk of my quarters in my rush to come see you that evening after packing... it doesn't matter though I guess, he probably has a dozen homes in his travels about Cyrodiil, the way Uvani keeps him running around, as Ungolim keeps _him_. A never ending cycle of time consumption. Anyways, I managed to tear myself away from Anvil before I could not find it in myself to even attempt as much, and returned to my route on the Gold Road. I did not stay again at any of the city's I had already passed through earlier, for I did not wish to risk being conspicuous, being glimpsed again slipping into the city's. Besides, I wanted to see if I had lost my touch at setting up camps in the woods along the way of my travels, living off the land and so forth... I am happy to report that prolonged Sanctuary life has not spoiled that ability in me... though i suppose century's of having done so take far longer to forget. I wanted to pay visit to the various forts and Bandit hideouts along the way... keep my practice up on those particular degenerates preying off the weary traveller, see the surprise in their eyes as they realized they had chosen the wrong victim... but it would have taken far too much time away from me... so I ate the left overs I'd brought with me from the Sanctuary, and all the plants and wild life I could find, and none of the bandits were stupid enough to try attacking me. Sort of a shame... I could have used a few more trophy's, but life is full of it's little disappointments. It was refreshing to live off the land again... takes me back to the time of my maidenhood... all the places I've seen, the things I've learned... the people I've killed there. Sorry, you know how I am with nostalgia, I forget to live in the current moment sometimes..."

Her eyes had taken on a kind of distant kindling look of memory, of rare contemplation, so very different from the madness that had been prevalent in them not to long before, and alien humanity shone back at Lucien, touching him with the beauty of her contrasting states of mind, from the darkest depths one moment to contemplating of times passed in another. The variety of such a simple thing was enriching as it was quickening... and for that moment her illusion was complete, no sign of the creature she truly was in sight. Lucien allowed her a few long moments contemplation in which he marvelled the sight of her.

"You have no cause to apologize to me, dearest sister", Lucien assured her gently at last, recapturing her focus with ease. The distance in her shadowed eyes gradually faded, the illusion shattered, and the mad light in them became more pronounced at the sound of his voice. "You are who you are, just as I am what I am. We both live without apology or regret. If the Brotherhood, Vicente and yourself in particular, have taught me anything... it is the beauty of individuality and uniqueness, of remembrance, the need for our world to operate as it does, for without those like ourselves, it could not... would not. Would fall apart at the seams without the presence of both Darkness and light... transformed instead into a boring, meaningless existence... a barren world of deserts in which only one way of living existed... when there are instead so very many."

"You are sounding more like him every day, brother... that's for certain", The High Elf replied, stroking the length of his arm rested on the table with slow sensuousness. "And although Vicente Valteri has few equals... you are greater even then he for all his years. You required not century's or immortality to become the man you are."

"As to that, I do not even think of it. Greatness is measured in far too many ways... my own is simply different from that which makes him and you what you each are... yet I thank you for the meaning behind your sentiment."

"You don't need to, Lucien. Now, as I was saying, I camped along the Gold Road, but not for very long... I covered quite a distance moving by night, and by now, I was bound for Bravil, bound for Ungolim out near the Nibney Valley. I reached the city quite early on in the morning, and instead of taking refuge in the Sanctuary this time, arranged a room for myself out in the Lonely Suitor Lodge... damn silly name if you ask me, kind of thing a fool would come up with. Not even a lonely suitor would want to go there... and not the greatest of places to match, but it served it's purpose for the time being, and that's all that mattered and does matter in the end. Functionality. What get's the job done. Bravil might be located beside the water just as surely as Anvil is, but it's an open gutter of refuse by comparison... beautiful in it's own ways of course, the lovely creeping mist, the homeless pathetic victims staggering about in the moonlit alleys just begging to be chosen... begging for an end to the meaningless stumbling that is their existence... and then of course, the city's one particular curio makes it in nearly all ways greater even then Anvil and the Imperial City combined, one so very few of us know exclusively."

"Well, I spent the morning there at the lodge and woke early, not long after sundown, and set about my tasks... after a none to appetizing meal, really, they call the dishes out there nourishment? I wasn't satisfied with their definition of meals... but corrected that problem a little later. I went first to the Sanctuary, and of course surprised them all with the abruptness of my appearance... I don't think even Ungolim visits them a whole lot any more these days... always so confined to his house, away from those who can take away his pain, despite his belief to the contrary. I warned the head of the Sanctuary... Ungolim hadn't done as much, unsurprisingly, and while I was going to leave at once... thought better of it, and I stayed for a few hours of visitation. Really, each of the Sanctuary's have their own unique thing going on... it's enjoyable not only to glimpse the workings of their family's and interactions, but the way their Sanctuary is literally arranged physically. They actually had a torture chamber down in the depths of one of their rooms, literally an entire section of the Sanctuary devoted to a great scale of instruments of torture... not only contract targets that had been brought home to be practiced on or tortured first on the wishes of a weak contract taker, but Skooma addicts who have... well, gone missing altogether. Really, the guards could care less when they vanish, it's not as though the filth had anyone that loved them... less trouble for the city and more room for the jails, so I suppose everyone wins in that scenario."

"I tried my hand at one of the addicts before leaving, a dear young woman, an Imperial unless I'm mistaken... and I don't believe I am. I thought I could show a few of the rather interested younger brothers and sisters there how an elder member of the family such as I goes about these things... I _don't _think they were expecting what I did... not many of them stayed to watch me finish up, certainly. A pity... nothing like having a large audience. Still, I believe I made quite the impressions on the youngsters, particularly the one's that forced themselves to stay and watch, growing steadily more pale as the sounds grew louder... and then much quieter. Brave children... if slightly weak willed. May as well teach them early that there are different ways of doing things, no sense in molly coddling them about that fact, they need to be shown early on that our family's, indeed, our Brotherhood, was never intended for the squeamish. I do not particularly believe evil should have entirely different sets of standards, gradations of evil... for all mannerisms belonging to chaos and despair come straight from our dear Father. You are quite right with the sentiment of variety amongst all things, it ties right into what I am speaking of... unfortunately not all share the sentiment, it would seem."

"Patience _must _be bestowed upon the young, dearest Sister", Lucien agreed swiftly, smiling at her shade of either mock, or very real childish indignation. Sometimes even he could not tell for certain. Despite her experience in some regards... on other matters she was so refreshingly simplistic... she spoke of the problems of youth, when she herself behaved like one so very often that she could well be the Altmer double of Gogron or Antoinetta. "They have yet to shed away the confines of their old life... and it clings to them, not all adapt or embrace change so instantaneously as we did... we also have the luxury of experience and having learned particular lessons they are yet to... it's really as simple as that. Time brings all knowledge to one, and the longer they remain with us, the more they will understand. I was young too once as you know... though some might forget that merely by examining the surface of the man I am today. As an Elf, you've lived longer then all mortal men like myself, so you must already understand what I mean."

"I do", Arquen allowed with a measure of reluctance, shrugging her slender shoulders, her smooth hair shifting slightly, and there was true, undisguised anger in her now, yet none of it aimed at him. "Yet as I seem to recall quite well... even _when_ you were young, you possessed no such weaknesses as they do. You are like me in that regard, as your manner owes after Vicente. I did not require my century's to become as great as I am... I achieved it when I was very young. I may understand their reasoning, the young, I just don't like it very much... you _know_ of my difficulty with patience first hand, with the heel dragging and resistance of the inept one's surrounding us... we and our concerns being swept away by growing waves of apathy... this journey has only doubled my contempt of such things, I guess... we both know such a thing should not be occurring within the Black Hand... young Murderers, yes I would understand... but the _other _Fingers? I don't even want to know how disappointed the Mother and Father must be in them... and I hate having to speak so ill of them, I love them all, yet they should not damn well be forcing me to, as they have been for so long now."

"I take it then...", Lucien began quietly, reading through the lines of her bitterness as she again tilted back her head and drank heavily, finishing up the remainder of a bottle before reaching for another and popping of the cork and pouring herself another full glass. "Your next visit, one to Ungolim himself, was not one of altogether success, then."

The lulling effects of the alcohol had begun to show the first of their symptoms on her, yet she kept a surprising control of herself, right down to the steadiness of her voice, for the time being, as she turned a raised brow to him.

"Was I _that_ obvious? No, it did not turn out very wonderfully at all. I left the Sanctuary after lecturing the few remaining brothers and sisters on the customs I have embraced, and arrived at his home not long after he had finished his nightly conference with the Mother. He was surprised like the others, but that faded more quickly then them... he even seemed very much glad to see me again... but that too was gone in a heartbeat when he realized what had brought me. I'm surprised he got around to inviting me in... but he did, and I told him what had brought me that night. He was annoyed at once, clearly, and said the whole matter was nothing more then fear mongering on our part, a witch hunt. Stupid sentiment, it's not like witch's _don't _exist. He hasn't much moved on his position that our brothers have been getting themselves killed... but I pressed him on the matter, and it would seem, out of reluctance if anything, he nevertheless took one of your suggestions you sent to him in a letter, in regards to asking the Mother of the Traitor... I take it he didn't get back to you about that... he wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea any more then he was of asking it of Her."

"_No_", Lucien admitted slowly, resisting an irritated grimace that would have matched her own. "He was rather silent on his end of the written responses about that part."

"I don't doubt it... but then I can see why he's a Listener and not a Speaker, he barely even addressed the topic, avoided it like the very mention of it was no different then a plague, but like I said, he at least did what you requested, not that the result will serve either of us well in our task. Apparently the Mother did not even answer his enquiry regarding the Traitor, and according to him, the meaning of this silence is very plain. That there _isn't_ one, and we were wasting Her time by even asking it to begin with. Utter rot, I say. He hears alright, but sometimes it feels like he doesn't think anything out, or truly _listen_s for that matter."

Lucien considered this answer from his Listener as his fellow Speaker drained yet another glass, this time in a single go, her ring covered glove tightening forcefully around it. In the silence, save the swirling of the contents of her drink, the Imperial merely shook his head tiredly, rubbing the bridge of his nose with weariness. The meaning should have been plain, indeed... yet Ungolim had gone in the exact opposite direction. As he mulled this mounting annoyance over, Arquen drew back from her empty glass, noted his exhaustion with the Listener, and her eyes, as well as her manner, moved away from her consumption of alcohols, and became rather sympathetic, motherly with concern even. Her hand moved to his rigid one, and she took it into her own tenderly, causing his brooding contemplations to fall short.

"It's only a matter of time now, Lucien", She told him quietly, her grip tightening to a degree, her thumb gradually caressing the back of his hand, the cool tinge of the valuable golden metal on the digit welcome to his flesh. "I know it may be time we do not have... but for now, we cannot rely on him in our aims. I do not like it any more then you do... but there it is. At this point, it is up to us."

"I should have thought the meaning of the Mother's silence would be more obvious to him", Lucien's low voice spoke up after a moment, and he shook his head again slightly before continuing, rubbing his chin unconsciously.

"The meaning was obvious enough to have occurred to me even before you just spoke it. The Night Mother will _not _get involved in this situation, for it is a task Her children _must_ go about by themselves, and not grow ignorant and entirely reliant on Her wise wisdom. She does _not_ want us to suckle forever at Her breast, for we are constantly growing sons and daughters of Darkness, and must root out this Traitor and rid ourselves and Her of the problem, just as that fool Greywyn was himself stopped before irreparable harm was loosed. She is testing our diligence in this matter... and we should not disappoint either Her or the Father through a disgusting lack of action. I admit to my concerns with our Listener, and I too hate to say as much, for he of all people should not be behaving in this lax, subdued manner, not even attempting to understand the state of affairs occurring... within a hairbreadth of actually _opposing_ us. It feels as though he has grown far too comfortable in his position... shining a basement seat with his rear end instead of investigating personally, as if the idea, no matter how remote to him, of a Traitor would unsettle the foundations of his well constructed world, and this _cannot _be. This _mustn't _be. He may well do more damage to the Brotherhood then the Traitor the longer he ignores the signs around him. I believe you are correct... we cannot rely on his willing assistance, just as we cannot rely on the Mother's all knowing eye constantly. The only thing we can rely on is ourselves, the skills and knowledge we have gleamed through the years, it would seem... yet I have rudely sidetracked your story again with my own thoughts, you have my apologies, please go on, dearest sister."

Her features conveyed her agreement with Lucien's summary of the Mothers wishes, and she inclined her head, reluctantly withdrawing her hand as he leaned back again in his chair, his own hands intertwining as he paid his rapt yet silent attention. She wanted to address the matter a little further, to speak of his frustrations, but he raised a hand politely, conveying his wish further for her to continue on, to not spend the entirety of their time together wallowing in their collective frustrations, and recognizing as much, obeyed her companion at once. Lucien was one, as he always had been, who sought to drive ever forward through the midst of a problem, to tackle it head on, rather then remaining trapped in it's unpleasant murkiness, stuck in something no different then a quagmire of grime. She took the time to refill her glass again, raise it to her lips, and after a sip, continued with a sigh.

"Well, I can't say I desired to stay after hearing all _that _out of him... he seemed to want me to stay and talk over dinner, but talk about anything and everything that did not involve the Traitor... I didn't indulge him in conversation very long, for I did not remain. I did not wish to speak the entirety of my mind to our Listener who does not listen, as I undoubtedly would have, so I somehow thanked him for his precious time. I think he saw the effect his denials had on me, for although he tried to have me stay, he dropped it quickly, and I left him on his own. I left with a fiery fume on the inside, but I felt as though I had been submerged in an icy lake after our talk, in unison with this fire, the two standing beside one another. His words swirled through my mind in a stream, each of them as foolish and as unfounded as the last, and I was going to find myself another homeless addict to take this rage out upon... when a thought came to me, and a calm that only She, Sithis, and yourself can induce in me so easily. I went to Her, to our Mother, and there in the mist, I stood and I watched Her ever motionless form. I believe I stood there for at least an hour... it was one of those truly rare, lovely occasions where one seems to think of absolutely nothing at all. My mind was free, more then that... it was my own, and I revelled in it. I did not hear Her of course, and I did not speak to Her... but Her presence was all I required to provide myself with further energy... to stand upon the very linchpin of our Dark Brotherhood and witness Her personally... it was more then enough to continue my now almost seemingly pointless journey. Really, by that point in time I already knew the outcome that lay waiting for me at my next destination... in Leyawin."

"I remained for quite some time near the Mother... but I knew before long that it was time to move on. That it was time to perform Her will once more. I left the city that same night without returning to the Sanctuary, to the relief of many there I am certain, and I took to Green Road again without any incident, making my way down along the coast to another city standing by not only the sea, but the very swamps leading off to Black Marsh. The city was refreshing to see, far more beautiful in many regards then Bravil, but then each city has it's own little perks, of course. I took in the sights, not only along the way, the forests and the wildlife, but once I reached it as well. You see, I had Uvani's schedule with me, so I knew I had at least a day to spare before he returned. I reached the city on Loredas evening, and I had but until Sundas to wait for him. His home in the city was locked up, of course, and I saw no reason to anger him any further then he would already be by breaking in to wait for him... so I wandered the city, visited the final Sanctuary and relayed our message, at last finishing that particular task, and took the remainder of my time to relax... or try to remain so, anyways. I was more then ready to return to you here... and by Sithis did I want to, but I was very nearly done altogether, and the visit to the Mother of course had encouraged me forward in seeing the last, perhaps most unpleasant bit of it through. So, I merely went out and saw what the city had to offer... meet a few of the locals..."

"The following evening, Uvani at last reached his home, but rather then going right away, I gave him some time to unwind... you know _how_ stressful his schedule is, the Elf barely even spends a moment at his home, much less his Sanctuary, as it is. I was loath to approach his home, for although I had missed him as I did the others, I knew my reception would not be so warm. It didn't much matter that I'd given him time to eat and relax, for the moment he answered the door, I got precisely what we've all come to expect. Cold surprise followed by bitter anger, a less then receptive attitude... and I forced myself not to be angered in turn at this, it is _far _too contagious with him these days. Well, he demanded at once to know why I was there, he was cursing and spitting in his own Dunmer tongue for a few moments there, of course I studied the language at one time or another so I got the just of what he was saying about me, and I had to invite myself inside none too politely. Eventually, and I use that term very loosely, he calmed down a bit, and I was able to continue on with a more pressing matter then his insults. As I've said, it was a foregone conclusion from the start. He threw himself into another rant about how he had no time for entertaining such pathetic worries, worries no more then overactive imaginations running wild, joined together with hearsay, rumours and fear. Not at all different from Ungolim's own thoughts in many ways, yet of course far more volatile. He ranted about his schedule and all the other things he's been busy with at the moment, and did not understand how he was to be expected to jump up and down at every single little rumour, that he was being spread to far as it was, that if it was anyone's responsibility, it was ours. If we thought there was a traitor, then by all means, we were to keep looking, but only come to him when there was a real shred of proof, and not a moment before or after."

"He was equally angered that I had apparently gone over his head with my warning to the head of his Family. I'm surprise he didn't start kicking over tables and chairs, foaming at the mouth and ripping his hair out... I think he might be getting a little better. It was bad enough we were wasting his time with such trivial things, but that we had gone around him was equally as bad, and we argued for quite some time long into the night, getting absolutely nowhere but further entrenched in our opposing sides. Ultimately, he understood that we are simply remaining on guard, and he did, I think, appreciate our vigilance, but not that it was now cutting into his own tasks. In other words, I wasn't getting any further with him then I had the other two... and honestly, although he can be an insufferable fool about these things, and although he angers me far more often then even yourself, I understand why. I pity him. As I said the last time we met in Chorrol, he is being overworked, and seeing it first hand is rather disquieting, the effects it is having upon him and his life... and nothing can be done of it. I took my leave of him, so he might be able to get some decent measure of relaxation and time with his family before heading out the subsequent evening, though I doubt it even now as much as I did then. He has barely spent time with them in months... and it is eating him and his peace of mind away bit by bit. I should have brought it up to Ungolim, in hindsight... but it slipped my mind. I'll have to place that particular concern into my next letter, in the hopes of him easing up a little on Uvani. Again I wandered the city, almost in a daze with only another stirred pot of confusion that were my thoughts... and no Mother to pay visit to... but by then, my task was completed, and there waited another indispensable consistent source of comfort. Eventually, I departed Leyawiin as I had all the other city's, and crossing the Lower Niben, I ventured back up the coast to Cheydinhal... I ventured on to _you_."

"Of course, you got my letter only the other evening after I took a room in town, I received yours... I got all dressed up and fanciful for you, and well, here we are at last. And it's about bloody time if you ask me. The trip was way too long as it was."

"It sounds like it to me.", Lucien agreed after a pause smoothly, an eyebrow raising as she leaned back in her seat, still clutching her glass firmly. Her words had fell short, but her gaze, becoming more intent, did not falter as she studied him in muteness, muteness as relaxing to her as the mead. She simply watched, appreciative all the while of his attentive ear into which she had been able to pour some of the thoughts and anxiety's swirling like storm clouds through her mind, gradually settling as his soothing tone befell her again. "And a far better recounting then my own story as well, it would seem. I thank you again for the amount of effort you put forward in this exhausting undertaking... perhaps it feels as though you did little, but you did _exactly_ what you _could_ without any measure of hesitation. You _acted_, you did not brood and leave it to unfold without your own intervention. _That_ matters above _all_. Our Parents will most surely appreciate your gesture, just as greatly as I do. Thank you, Arquen."

Arquen merely smiled a full lipped smile, brushing aside his thanks wordlessly, and again, a shared silence descended over the entirety Chamber. Lucien, calmly as ever, peered back at her as she did him. The alcohol was beginning to take it's effect, even her own restraint no longer enough to hold it back, and after draining yet another glass of mead, she started to pour herself another, yet stopped, and took the entire bottle into her hand, ignoring the glass. Tilting back her head, she drank deeply as though from the depths of a basin. Her lipstick was beginning to run already... and again, that ravenous glint lowered it's mask and settled it's self methodically upon the Imperial. There was no longer any way she could disguise it, for the thin, dark brows of her maddened eyes narrowed, and she tilted her head appraisingly to him as though studying a fascinating statue in a museum. It had returned to her, the blood lust and the lust were now one, and now settled themselves like a parasite around her, seizing control of her. Her facade of calm had faded gradually through her story... a dam slowly cracking at the foundations, the need seeping through, a horrible longing to be done with her recounting being conveyed throughout, a longing for the evening to die down... eventually, it had.

The shackles she fastened about her true hunger were beginning to shatter like glass shards as she quickened, her entire body slowly pulsing as though the presence of another had flitted into her being.

She welcomed her rawest and most ravenous emotions as her pulse quickened even further, breathing deeper. It had been a long time since last they shared an evening such as this one, and she was ready to get on with the main course. She had been ready for long enough. Her lips parted, releasing a quiet sigh that betrayed as much of her desires as her muddy, dark eyes, and Lucien smiled thinly, knowing what was to occur next, and by now quite ready for it again. Her legs seemed to stir beneath her gown, opening and closing slightly, adjusting themselves and her breast seemed to swell forward with all kinds of life. The copious amount of drink and food did not drain her energy or slur her manner in the slightest, for that red cloud in her mind seemed to blank it out and power her with an entirely separate force that went beyond all else.

Her smile deepened as she set down the bottle, at last revealing the twin rows of needle-like, meticulously filed down and chiseled canines, incisors and every other pale tooth in her sensuous mouth, glinting soullessly in the shimmering of the candles. With that same ravenous, animal-like smile and nocturnal glint, yet with the bodily cool and manner of her kind, she slipped off each of her glistening jewelled rings one by one, spacing them apart so they formed a perfect circle on a clean napkin, and removed her gloves almost elegantly, one after the other, pealing them from her arms slowly. The pale hairless gold that was her flesh beneath them was revealed, as well as her long black painted nails, which she clacked across the surface of the table, and she set down the gloves with enough force to rattle the various utensils and glasses around her. Her freed hands drifted casually, leisurely to the front of her gown's tightened crimson and black corset, and settled upon one of it's buttons before parting it, separating it. With the same malignant meticulousness, they continued on in this fashion across the sea of clasps, buttons, belts, laces and fastenings, and she occasionally stopped to undo some of the hooks and laces confined to and plaguing her back. Lucien remained in his seat, his hand tightening slowly into a fist and resting it upon his cheek as he watched her, not moving forward, leaning back comfortably against his chair.

"Well, it certainly _is_ the proper time in the evening now for it... though even if it were _not_, I could not see you _caring _one way or the other, or myself in much of a position to argue.", His low, amused voice noted calmly, and his eyes studied her binding corset more closely, appraising it carefully. "Do you require any of my assistance in this matter, dearest sister?"

"What do _you_ think?", Her own cool voice returned without hesitance, and there was a lowness that had not been there prior. It was a muddy and powerful to behold as her eyes, overcome with her deepest desires, and she shook her head a single time as she peered up at him from her work. "No number of fastenings can _stop_ me... you know just how few things in existence can _stop_ me from doing _anything_ I want to. I appreciate the gentleman behaviour of your offering as I always have... but _this_ is something for _me_ to do alone... I was imagining being able to remove it at last bit by bit, and that's the way it's going to happen. I've removed all manner of dress over the years... and although the time has already come and gone where I could issue you commands... that shall not make me falter from giving this one that you shall follow: you just _sit_ there and stay perfectly still, _my_ _child_. I'll have you momentarily."

"Ah... I see. By all means then, do continue uninterrupted... _mother._"

"_Good._"

The minutes passed slowly as she worked at the corset, Lucien placidly drinking from his glass as he watched on, his face obscured in shadows, and at last her long fingered hands began to win their battle with the elegant gown, and she rose to her feet, not taking her eyes off him, the gown shifting again about and rustling over the cracked, dusty floor as she pushed back the chair she had vacated. Gradually, the corset and gown began to loosen about her svelte body, and her hands moved around to her back as she manipulated the final laces there, and with triumphant gleam in her shadowed eyes, at last she had it undone. Leaning her head backwards slightly, her shining hair fell like a wedding veil from her slender shoulders and settling down to her back, and with that, she took hold of the material on either shoulder and gradually began to lower it from her hourglass form. The gown slipped ever downward, revealing her collarbone, and continued down past her breast. Arquen shifted slightly as she lowered the gown, and when it was down to her stomach, she let go, the confines of the dress falling freely over her curvy hips and willowy physique and settling down around her boot covered feet, as though she stood in the midst of a river of crimson and darkness.

At the same time, she pulled down her leggings before drawing back up to her full height, clad only in her dark tan bra and panties, her necklace, and the black leather boots buried beneath the gown, and causing Lucien to at last blink as he had the first time she had revealed herself to him... as he had _every_time. Flexibly reaching again around to her back, she started to unhook her bra, slipping the shoulder straps off, yet before removing it, slowly, teasingly turned her back to the Imperial. Peering down at him from over her shoulder with that same nocturnal hunger of a predator, a hunger that was only intensifying with each passing moment, still holding either shoulder of the slipping bra, Arquen shook her head slightly, causing her mane of hair to flip away from her nearly bared back. Finally releasing her bra, which slipped freely down to the floor, to her gown, she continued to watch him, her razor sharp teeth exposing again cruelly just as what lay imprinted into her back was cast into view by the glow of the candlelight.

She knew it's nearly overpowering effect on him whenever she displayed it, and not merely her gleaming smile told him this, but experience as well. It was as if a living mosaic had been imprinted, grafted, to the entirety's of the long canvas that was her naked back. It was not quite ink as the world knew it, but a kind of series of enchanted etchings of crimson and black, so very much like her gown, covering her as if in a protective, magical embrace. The tattooing, the viscous seemingly fluid of it, continually seemed to shift with it's magical ambiguity, giving living animation to the designs that had been placed there so carefully. Standing out at the centre-most of her entire back, Sithis rose up in all His terrible glory, a towering darkly robed and hooded skeleton with a crimson glow flickering steadily from the confines of his bandage enveloped and rotting skull, reaching not only the entirety of the scene, but awashing Lucien's shadowed face, truly the closest embodiment of Him the mortal mind could yet conceive, backed by the stars of the universe he outlived.

One of His long fingered bony hands, not white or yellowing as the most ancient earthly skeletons, but blackened as if charred by a heat something not even the boiling fires of Oblivion could rival, was risen up to the back of Arquen's shoulder, taking up the vast majority of it. Clenched in this terrible clutching all powerful and invasive Black Hand, their Dread Father grasped the the cosmic sphere of dreams that was the Nirn tightly as the vibrant Masser and Secundus orbited like frightful glowing spectres, rotating all the way around His hand. His four Fingers were visible as they clenched, yet His thumb was carefully hidden from sight behind the spacious globe of greens and blues. Amongst the staggering array of vivid details, another subtle one caught the Imperial's eye over each of them. Two of the Fingers, those of the index that passed judgement, and the longer middle one, were not only affixed to the Nirn, but pressed together lovingly, being those of Lucien's and Arquen's respectively, while the others, those of Uvani and J'Ghasta's, were spread apart from one another over the sprawling land they were dug into. At the end of each of these four Fingers, were the same number of seemingly disembodied yet living heads affixed proudly to each like rings. Each of the four skull faced and sexless heads were entirely identical, all of them with a golden crown adorned to their temples with plated shoulder armour mounted to their sides like demonic knights of a perverted chess game. The holes where their eyes should have been were malignant, narrowed black voids, just as their voices were, though this detail was far more significant to the flesh mosaic. Their mouths, or rather the blank hole lacking any distinct pattern of lips where they should have been, were alive and constantly shifting about as if on their own accord. They radiated dark waves of rippling energy that pulsated downward to the hapless continents and islands below them and spread outward, expanding, specifically, unto the largest below, Tamriel, letting loose the feared voice of their Father and carrying it to every inch of the world both mortals and immortals coexisted so uneasily upon, where wars of all kinds raged constantly.

These were not the only entity's affixed to His Black Hand, for perched at the very end of each Finger, close to each Speaker, another four skulls resided protectively upon the nails. Each of these were also crowned, yet with a skeleton's hand affixed to their mouths to maintain perpetual silence, their empty eyes so very blank, almost frightfully so even. Perched at the very ends of the fingers, these four silenced Talons were clenched into the surface of the Nirn deeply, piercing it, each of them waiting for the instruction to leave the finger and chase after the loosed deadly nocturnal sound-waves unto the continents of the planet. Blood trickled freely beneath her flesh from the four spots the Talons pierced and ran over the continents and the sea, so realistically so that Lucien had lost track of how many times it had fooled him for actual cuts. Lucien could hear the gratifying screams of agony from the Nirn below the Talons in his minds eye as they were again and again blanketed before the deathly waves retreated back into the Speaker's mouths and were unleashed yet again on the helpless globe for as long as his elder sister's flesh remained. Sithis's other bony hand moved over to Arquen's opposite side, taking the hand of Another into His own intimately. Unlike His own charred skeleton hand, the Other he held, Their own fingers passionately interwoven, was still clad in flesh, smooth and feminine, ghostly pale yet strong in it's own way, having weathered the Era's. Resting between their joined hands was a single bloody red Rose, it's pedals vibrant and filled with life, it's stem and numerous jagged thorns bleakly dark and withered by an unfathomable expanse of time from when first He had plucked it.

The thorns were stuck into the flesh of the feminine hand, drawing many droplets of scarlet that fell freely from Her. Yet, it was the owner of this feminine hand that evoked another powerful quickening of desire and passion in Lucien, a jolt passing through his heart as if it had been stricken by an arrow. The Night Mother, a dark beauty yet so inhumanly pale, somehow more so then any Vampire in existence, shrouded in midnight, stood hand in hand with Her lover, while Her other hand reached down towards Arquen's lower back, joining with a second bony hand, yet unlike the Father's powerful one, being instead diminutive and child-like. At the Night Mother's side, the small skeleton-like creature that was the Listener peered adoringly up to it's Mother, and the Mother was knelt over it as she held both hands, her cruel lips whispering tenderly into Her child's wide, demonic wing-like and scarlet toned vein covered ears which flapped rhythmically about while Her lips moved slowly. It's eyes were as soulless and empty as it's Father and fellow Fingers above it, yet unlike it's subordinate Brothers, a diamond rested in the centre of it's golden crown, no armour was adorned to it, and it's mouth had been forevermore sewn shut, a longed ragged stitching binding it.

Lower still on the canvas charting the entirety of the Dark Brotherhood, just above the slender, toned curves of Arquen's bottom, and at the feet of the Father the Mother and the Listener, there were four separate groups of tiny shadowy, humanoid entity's, each partaking as one in separate Dark pleasures. The group of Dark Brothers and Sisters laying far beneath the Nirn, and at Sithis's right foot, were partaking in a debaucherous orgy, their many figures intertwined as they rutted, joining together and separating again and again, sharing the love of the Family's. Close to this group, a second was in the midst of a blood soaked frenzy, each shadow armed with a blade as they stabbed over and over at permanently silently screaming victims, be them men, women or children, each Murderer revelling in the suffering about them they were inducing and the experience of the executions. Some danced together amidst the blood soaked victims, holding one another close like a lovers embrace as they did so, others worked the blades into non vital areas of their victim's body's, gauging the suffering they were inflicting and increasing it... while still more consumed the rended flesh of the innocent, the good and the guilty without bias. A third group, closer to the Father's left skeleton foot, closer to the Mother, were lapping up the droplets of Her very essence that trickled and flowed courtesy of the Rose, filling themselves and rolling about in the formed puddles in a worshipful writhing frenzy, beneath the red beams of light emanating from their approving Father. The final group of figures were knelt at both the Mothers feet, the Listener's, and Sithis's left, were bowing forward and back in a continuous loop of prayer, while around them resided the rotting remains of a great Black Sacrament as they called upon the Mother's children. Several of Her shrouded Dark Children stood close at hand, moving freely about the praying figures unseen, observing the deepest desires of the weak and unworthy denizens of the Nirn and their offerings, prepared to perform the deeds _they _themselves were incapable of doing personally.

What little unmarked flesh that had remained of Arquen's back had too been buried long before Lucien had ever met her, for around each scene, be it in lines or around the perimeters bordering the images, inscribed painstakingly even to her deltoids, were a series of ancient symbols and text flowing freely, their various meanings known only to the Five of the Black Hand, glyph-like symbols that had been passed down over the century's, many variety's of which long ago written into each Ancient Black Door of the each Sanctuary personally by a Speaker who had already gone to the Void. The task of drawing up these symbols was one given to each generation of Fingers, and one Lucien himself had performed but once before, at the birth of a Sanctuary far outside of Cheydinhal. Every inch of Arquen's back, as with her soul, was bared and devoted to the chaos of the Dread Father, every infinitesimal bit screaming a shadowy world of pain and pleasure, each so very indivisible of one another... and Lucien's own uncontainable desire became physically more pronounced and noticeable to her lowering, pleased eyes. Her arms dropped from her shoulders, each of which held tattoos of their own, those of the blackened palm prints so very much like those on their children's shrouded armour and adorned to their ceremonial banners, as though she had been grasped by a hand stained in charcoal, the dust settling into her flesh forever. With her arms moving back down to her sides, she no longer hugged herself, and presented instead the corner of her lush, golden breast, teasing him.

At last, she turned entirely to him, unveiling an extravagant, pale gold front that rivalled her back, in the form of a second collage of Dark art... yet not _quite_ entirely through the use of tattooing, rather, through the _true _modification of her own body, a grafting of sorts. All down and across her front, over her svelte stomach and lower still, in a sight that would perhaps unnerve or disconcert most, there resided a great many fetishistic implemented hooks, piercings and chains of glinting metals from iron to silver, each driven meticulously through the surface of her smooth flesh in an expanding pattern, with purposeful bodily mutilations and scarifications to match. Running along her collarbone was a prevalent sight of silver beads and razor sharp hooks resting imbedded in her flesh and running down partially towards her chest. At various points around her breast to her stomach, were many of the scars, each telling it's own grim tale, of terrible serrated slashes, burns and healed arrowhead puncterings, yet not all of these Lucien had ever been able to tell which she had done to herself, and which others had given to her. Through each of her bronzed, perk nipples, two separate thin, almost nail-like pieces of iron had been driven with relish, and many more such as these ran in an entirely separate manner down the surface of her stomach, running in a pattern where it seemed as if her slender stomach had been sewn shut in criss crossing form using steel chainmail-like rings as though they were knitting threads.

These stopped at her full hips and the hemline of her panties that clung against the inward curve of her obscured Maidenhood, yet extenuated the smaller number of mystical tattoos her front possessed, even when compared to the living mosaic of her back. Occasionally amongst this criss crossing, there was a circular gap of flesh of sorts left purposefully to the eyes, and upon these gaps, ascending upward, starting from the lowest point on her stomach, there were the inscriptions, the living tattoos, of the ascension of her achievements amongst the Dark Brotherhood. As the achievements went upward, the ink seemed to grow fresher, though to be sure, each was clearly visible to Lucien. The first small tattoo at the base of her trim, well toned stomach was a simple bared arm holding a dagger with a scarlet blade... the arm moved slightly now and again, as if the one who owned it were breathing heavily, and the droplets of blood fell freely from it like rain. The one above this achievement was the unmistakable design of a dark sword standing upright in the midst of a puddle of shifting blood. The third tattoo, one resting just below the inward silver hook pierced surface of her belly button, was nearly an exact replica of the one before it, except that another sword had joined the lone one.

The next tattoo started just above her belly button, and while again of a sword, it no longer stood in a puddle of blood. The sword had grown a pair of crimson, demonic and bat-like wings that flapped forward and backwards slowly, the sword it's self hovering. The fifth marking, at the centre of her stomach, changed this pattern entirely, for a soulless armoured full helmet with slit-like glowing white eyes and a sealed mouth now rested in the foreground, with a twin pair of scarlet stained executioner's axes crossed together before it. The tattoo above even this, laying just below her breasts, was one already imprinted on to her back, in the form of a crowned skeleton head with it's own bony hand covering it's mouth in silence. Yet, it was the seventh and final tattoo on her stomach, now resting between her breasts as though it were her very heart, that truly gave testament to _who_ and _what _she was. Another crowned skull, precisely like the four on her back, wearing heavy armour at it's shoulders and releasing a flurry of dark sound-waves expanding outward from it's permanently agape mouth, reaching partially even to the expanse of her breast as they travelled and a pair of narrowed, savagely cruel, empty eyes.

Over this particular etching, shifting slightly whenever she drew in breath, hung her necklace, it's own cold eye swinging back and forth relaxingly like a the ticking of a clock. Her long arms and full legs too betrayed the telltale scars and the vast scheme of her mutilations at particular points, a scar from a wound that had gone very deeply through her leg, with another on the other side joining it, stood out proudly at one of her knees, while a long slash mark from a dagger had healed long ago across her thigh, and so on and so forth until it seemed she were nearly composed of scar tissue entirely. Arquen allowed her allured companion to take in the sights for a few more moments, standing truly as the perfect earthly unification of sensuality and death, but before long could not wait any further then that. She stepped out of the bundle of her leggings and gown, her booted feet carrying her closer to him, her shadow befalling him as the candles flicked as though suspended in the wind. For a split second, she paused, her savage gaze turning to her boots and preparing to remove them, yet seemed to reconsider silently, and instead continued forward to Lucien.  
>She lowered herself down into his lap delicately, still towering over him, her feet lowering to the cold, yet unfelt stone below them. The moment she was upon him, Lucien's arms moved slowly to her, wrapping tenderly about her curvy waist as she pressed into the tightening groin of his pants, her bared breasts doing the same of his own covered chest, and she kissed him deeply, her tongue comfortably exploring. With the same nearly feral manner, the High Elf's hands stole to the buttons of his dress shirt, yet without the same obvious care they had exhibited towards her gown, and both hands took either side of it, shredding easily the shirt with a single pull, many of it's button dropping in a shower to the floor as her hand stole inside the shirt, caressing the firm pectoral muscles and dark hair within, the gentleness of her touch receding, and being replaced by a roughened manner. Lucien's eyes lowered somewhat pointedly to the state of his ruined, fine dress shirt, and she laughed none too kindly at him.<p>

"If you don't like it, learn to sew then, dearest brother... or better yet, have your Vampire to fix it up with his endless scale of ability's", She murmured as she kissed him again, pushing him further against the chair. "But save the _true_ passion for me. _That _is mine."

"I suppose it's what _you _always do for me."

Impatiently, she withdrew from their kiss with a throaty growl, teeth baring into another cruel smile at this sentiment and she rose to her feet abruptly, taking the closest bottle of mead as well as his hand and drawing him from the seat, leading the shorter man from the table and to the western portion of the Chamber... specifically, the bed. Upon reaching it, Lucien had only just removed his shoes when she had shoved him down violently onto the covers and, setting the mead aside on his bedside dresser, was already climbing atop him. She removed his torn dress shirt, throwing it aside nonchalantly, and her hands lowered to the crotch of his trousers, undoing them, and discarding they too along with his undergarments. Drawing him closer, straddling his hips, with a physical strength not usually attributed to her kind, she pinned his arms to the bed, the muscles in her thin arms straining forward as though composed of iron. Although very tall, her entire body was, as ever, well toned through exercise both natural and perverted, every curve as fine to behold as the rest of her. She breathed deeply as she peered down into his eyes, her necklace and it's content leaning over him, and he smirked faintly at the great amount of pressure she exerted against his arms.

"You know... you remind me far more of a Nord woman, at your basest nature, your strength, dearest sister, then a High Elf of refined class", His low voice appraised her quietly, studying the nearly feral glint of her eyes.

"And what would _you _know about Nord women?", she enquired huskily, her tone truly interested in the answer, yet her continued roaming not.

"You are already well aware that I've travelled as much as yourself", he replied at once smoothly, unapologetically. "Yet you also know what they say about elven women, however... of their apparently insatiable appetites sought after by _all_... it would seem you are the perfect combination of both lovely quality's."

"Oh, I _can_ be satisfied", Arquen disagreed silkily with the Imperial, a hand stealing from one of his arms and vanishing into the hemline of her sole remaining undergarment, caressing the moistening womanhood within. "You too understand that... it merely takes, ah, _time_. And the proper exploration."

"But of course. You know, I have always wondered how you manage to hide such magnificent art from passerby's, when you are not wearing your robes, of course."

Arquen's jagged teeth grinned as his gaze passed over the chains and hooks sewn into the flesh of her stomach, alongside the shifting movements of her tattooing.

"Have you _ever _believed me the type to be seen wearing the revealing attire of a common disease ravened street walker?"

"A valid enough point."

Her eyes lowered to his exposed chest, amongst other things, and studied the taught body beneath her, well muscled even in his advancing age, covered _not _in tattoos and fetishistic piercings, but in thick dark hair, save the scattered clear white marks of scars or charred magical and non magic induced burns, brandings and scorches that stood out clearly from the midst of his body hair at various points, be it his stomach, chest or along each of his limbs. There was a great variety to them, each telling entirely different stories from her own. There were long healed slash and puncture marks across his chest courtesy of swords, short swords, daggers, arrows and nearly all other kinds of weapons of Tamriel, most of which having been acquired in his youth. There were now pale twin puncture marks up at his collar bone, neck and nearly every other spot in one form or another, where before blood had leaked steadily from them to be fed upon. One of the most telltale of his scars, one she knew of, was that where an arrow had stuck once into his stomach and continued on through until it's head has protruded from his back, which too held the healed exit wound, only barely missing vital parts there. Time had bestowed it all upon him, and none of the marks were of his own hand as a great many of her own were to hers.

"Your _own _form of tattooing...", Arquen murmured quietly, more to herself then he. She continued to study each of the scars, pausing upon a large burn imprinted into his abdomen, and a sort of playfulness crossed her shadowy eyes. "Each with a lesson. By now, how many of these are from me, our little foreplay's? How many not from me?"

"A few of the slashes belong to you... many of the burns of course, as well as _most _of the bites", Lucien supplied for her laconically, causing her to utter an appreciative, unrestrained laugh. "Studying your handiwork I see. Really, you always have been rather messy in your activity's with me, particularly with the nature of our joinings."

"What can I say?", Arquen asked silkily, her hand retreating from her undergarment as she leaned her long body further over the Imperial, her breasts pressing against him reassuringly, the cold metal of her self mutilations nearly bringing goosebumps to the surface of his bristling flesh. She brought her lips to his ear, touching them delicately as he held her, his hands descending to her lower back, her full and generous hip and stroking her, as well by extent as the dark brothers and sisters who resided there, themselves already partaking in what the Speakers were soon to.

"I'm a humanitarian. If you've ever _had_ any problems with that, you certainly have a unique way of _showing_ it. You might behave outwardly more like Vicente... but _I_ know what you are in the dark. You have always found great pleasure in brushing up with _death_, have you not? Why is it you trust me _so_, when before me lies a plethora of artery's and veins I could accidentally puncture and draw the dance we each so greatly love to a close?"

Her lips parted, and to further prove her point, she pleasurably scrapped the points of her teeth against his stubble endowed throat, scratching at it, but not yet opening the flesh. She giggled in his ear as she felt him draw a breath, his manhood pressing more tightly against her at the pressure of her razor-like canines, his arousal undisguised. Regardless of this, he spoke as if nothing had occurred, his voice, as ever, calm as simultaneously he noted her other silent actions at the corner of his perceptions, perhaps her believing him distracted.

"I've _never _had a... 'problem', with your most interesting ways. As for my trust of you... it's because your knowledge of human anatomy is, of course, as developed and capable as my own. We know where each artery, each detail lies that can be exploited to bring death... even in your blood lust, your passion, you seem to remember this much, at least."

One of his hands drifted leisurely away from her lower back as he spoke, and moved elsewhere, back up along the covers and towards the pillow and sliding gradually beneath it. With a flash of light, and a familiar hiss of the sheath being separated from it's occupant, a long silvered blade found it's way back up to Arquen, and rested quite comfortably across the base of her throat, unmoving. The cold valuable metal pressed into her neck as the chains and hooks of her body did against him, and nothing changed in her malevolent, famished expression. His eyes lowered past her, to the tip of the dagger, resting it's point against his heart, that she had drawn from it's own sheath stowed away carefully within one of her still adorned boots, and he peered back up into her glinting, murky eyes so very close to his own.

"And _besides_... neither of us truly wishes to _disappoint_ our Mother and Father, now _do_ we?", Lucien spoke with a deepening, pleased look as she met his gaze over the blade, each of them entirely devoid of the fear they thrived upon spreading. "What kind of _example_ to the _others _would we serve if we ended up killing one another?"

Arquen's sharpened teeth flashed again brighter in the bedside candlelight and she laughed at his brazenness. With the silver sword still across her throat, where within the pulse was steadily increasing again with excruciating excitement and desire, amongst other parts of her body, and with her dagger still laying against his own beating organ, she kissed him over the metal that had claimed a great many lives, as quickly as a snake might strike. They peered deeply back at one another, until an undoubtedly impressed Arquen withdrew her dagger, rising higher over the Imperial and tucking it back into her boot, while in turn, Lucien moved his sword back into it's sheath under the pillows. Arquen's naked thighs straddled him tighter, and she lowered herself closer.

"Always _so_ quick... _so _well prepared.", The Altmer Speaker whispered, now on the verge of panting, her breast rising and falling. Her hungry eyes lowered again to his heart, where still the pressing of the dagger had left behind a tiny scratch. "And so brave. You know how much courage means to me, dear brother... so why _not_ start _there_?"

Lips separating ravenously, again revealing her razor teeth, she lowered further down upon him with a hiss to rival a blade, sinking every one of them into his chest, a trickle of scarlet immediately being drawn and flowing down over his stomach, dripping onto the covers below. The spasm of pain swelled his heart beneath her teeth, momentarily taking away his auditory senses as he savoured the known sensation, his breaths seemingly stopping in the instant his eyes were forced shut as though against a tide. After a time in which his breaths, like his heartbeat quickened in unison with his desires, he returned to himself, gazing down upon her as she withdrew from his chest, lips, indeed a fair amount of her face, stained with his life's essence, and by now she was indeed panting with the burdens of her own excitement, and excitement that multiplied upon feeling _his _excitement, their desires unifying and sharing a rhythmical symbiosis of sorts. She dipped her finger into his blood, and suckled at it sensually before lowering her hand back to the jagged wound, grasping the opened flesh and digging her long nails into it, parting the flesh a little further and bestowing upon him another thrill of the heated, aching pain to swim through his senses and overload them. He seized the haze of the stinging, quite at home with it, and rode it comfortably, breathing ever more quickly, yet not raising in pitch. She smiled venomously, the blood dripping down her chin, across her perfect, heaving breast and like rain upon the assorted scars of his midsection as she kept her claw-like fingers inside the bloody bite she had left behind, her other hand moving to his manhood and taking it, stroking it freely and possessively.

"Let's see that little Breton girl of yours do something like that", She whispered silkily, considering the constriction of his pleasured face, a bestial thought coming to her fevered mind and she set upon it at once. "On the other hand... perhaps I was a little hasty earlier. Maybe you _should _have invited her up here to join in on the fun... the festivity's. I daresay we could both teach the child a few important things... valuable life lessons, if you will."

"Now _there's_ an interesting idea... and something _you_ most certainly _would_ think of", Lucien murmured quietly, recovering himself from the excitement slowly, peering into her glinting malignant eyes and considering it. In his mind, he saw again the quickened, young woman's face as she described the poison coursing through her aunt's veins, utterly alive, lustful and passionate even in detail, somehow so very similar to the older one hovering over him with something transfixing in her being. He recalled the images of her vivacious quickening as she had kissed him, and at last he inclined his head. "And one I cannot see her _altogether_ objecting to. Though, she is still something of a _delicate_ child in her current state... we would do well to first let her continue her bodily recovery. I would not have you _frightening _her off before she might be ready for such a thing."

Arquen laughed languidly, raising a knowing eyebrow of false innocence, a creature pulling yet another illusion about herself as easily as she would her cloak.

"Frightening, Lucien? Am I _really_ so frightening? It's not as though I would _kill _her..."

Lucien's thin lips curled as though he very much doubted this.

"Not frightening to one such as I, perhaps, one who knows you as I do... but to many of the young... well, you already spoke of their rumours about you, did you not?"

"I suppose you have a point... maybe _next_ time then", Arquen whispered enticingly already seized by the prospect, her teeth flashing brilliantly. "Or is _this_ alone too much for you? It has been awhile, now hasn't it? It wouldn't surprise me if you've grown _weak_... if we added a youthful Breton woman to this joining, I doubt you could match her naturally high energy level... much less my _own._"

Arquen had scarcely finished her taunting sentence when Lucien's powerful, weathered hand had grasped the hook protruding from the flesh of her mutilated belly button, pulling her roughly forward and instilling not only his unperturbed answer, but the excitement of pain into _her _as well. She released a breathy gasp as her arms enveloped him, golden, scarlet stained breasts again pressing more firmly against him as they rose and fell in tandem, the cool metal punctured through her nipples resting against his chest. Their faces were no more then an inch apart, their shadows dancing together on the walls, each of their breaths releasing another jet of warmth unto the other. She noted the cold darkness of his eyes, a void brimming with desires. He was so very cold where she was so very heated... and the contrast was as beautiful to her as her own immeasurable cruelty's.

She seized his lower lip, her canines baring again and clenching upon the flesh within, the tissue opening at once and the blood trickling between them. The beautiful coppery taste was overwhelming her senses, stirring the deepest fires of her passion as their vigorous foreplay went on for quite some time into the night. Eventually, however, it became evident she could not hold it off any longer. Really... that she had gone this long without breaking off the exploration of one another was impressive to Lucien. She longed for the unification of not merely his blood residing within her, the red thirst it's self not even partially quenched. Her bloodied teeth bared together rigidly, gnashing and she drew upright from him, gazing down to him with immeasurable yearnings she had felt with no other before, and in one swift movement, she slipped free from her panties, sliding them down off her boot, and the undergarment fell down amongst his own pile of clothing. Lucien's simultaneous yearning had become a detonating inferno of it's own, and was nevertheless stoked ever higher as her final undergarment was cast aside.

Her lovely golden legs parted encouragingly and enticingly, freely displaying the elaborate self scarification and metallic additions of her pubis and womanhood, very nearly hairless, and already glistening and quavering. She positioned herself down closer to his lap, gripping the base of his manhood, and lowered herself upon it slowly, agonizingly, the moist warmth prevalent within encompassing the appendage. It entered slowly to it's fullest length, and she released a moan that swelled through her entire being as she took it into herself, her body arching backwards, the rich, lacquered hair that fell over her breasts falling aside behind her strand by strand. Her hips buckled and moved nearly at once as if on their own sentient accord, gradually at first, yet with ever quickening speed to match the magnitude of her desires, and they buckled up and down painstakingly. One hand moved to the front of her vulva again, coaxing it in rhythm as they joined together, while the other bloodied one stole again to the wound on his chest. A dark haze in his mind, so very much like the bestial one inherent to Arquen, flitted into the Imperial's conscious being as his hands moved to her clenched, firm bottom, gripping it tightly, his own hips rising as hers pressed downwards with increasing furor.

Time seemed to suspend it's self indefinitely as the Speakers explored one another's deepest desires, as they had so many times before, each joining as refreshing and inhibiting as the first, only growing that much more exciting between interludes, the latest interlude being shattered into a million fragments as if it had never existed, her gasps and breaths, every one of them, spurring him. They each had waited so long for this, and at long last, it was unfolding, a sharing that went beyond the physical, the physical merely the means of conveying their basest feelings for the other. Eventually, he felt the change stirring within her womanhood, an increasing heat and vigour that betrayed it's true meaning. Through a concentration he had long possessed, one that cut with ease even through the midst of his heated pleasure, he held off for her. The blood streaked concubine in his lap quickened more powerfully then she had the remainder of the evening, rising and falling as the adrenaline rush seemed to double or treble her already great physical strength, and again she leaned forward as she rode the waves of pleasure, pinning his arms easily above his head, her nails digging into the flesh there and opening fresh wounds.

Her teeth bared as she drew closer to her climax, her features contorting and seemingly throbbing. Her vigour increased ever more, rising and falling, the metal protruding from her breasts glinting like the mixture of sweat and blood both shared. The shadow of her eyes was beginning to run together with the white facepainted flowers underneath each, smearing them together. The mixture it's self began joining with the scarlet, and the blush overtaking her face. Her mouth parted, and she released an almost startled gasp, as, at last, her climax reared it's head. It reverberated not merely through her body, but her mind as well, through an infinity, her slender hips beginning to quake as if fighting an indomitable current, and she gasped out louder, it's echo carrying clear across the chamber. Baring her teeth tighter, her eyes remained open against the urge to do otherwise, narrowing rigidly and she freely uttered a carrying scream mixed with a feral growl that had stirred and broiled within her for the longest of times. She came in a torrent of dark words, lapsing into her native elven tongue that Lucien understood entirely, as she rode out the climax, her long form swelling upright where for a moment it was as if she would levitate and dangle above the bed. She buried her face into his neck sensually as the heat within her surmounted, and she finished with a moan that swelled through her entirety, yet clearly still not spent, her surging body crying out for more and more.

In the fugue of her orgasm, Lucien took the reins from her, rising up on the bed, himself breathing more heavily, and positioning himself tenderly behind her, his stamina not waned. One of her long arms wrapped up around the back of his neck as her stained lips smiled, as if in grim parody of the embrace of a damsel in distress, and his hands moved instinctively, one lowering protectively to her metal endowed stomach, the other more lustfully to the front of her womanhood as he entered her again slowly. With this, her free hand joined with the one resting on her stomach, their fingers intertwining together affectionately. Their hips moved again rocking as one, and they were joined a second time, the bestial heat in the High Elf not having receded in the slightest, only barely relinquishing the role of leader in their dance. Lucien's gaze move down the length of her sweat streaked, tattooed back, to the mosaic of cruelty and despair etched before him, brushing against him, and the weight of his desire became nearly unbearable as he worked her with both his hand and manhood for a time. His thin lips pressed to her pointed ears, above which, miraculously, the stem of Nightshade remained and would remain throughout, and his lips massaged her earlobe soothingly, illiciting another moan, and her silky hair and powerful scent of vanilla settled against him, her scent by now he had entirely bathed himself in.

At last, the hand at her womanhood drew to her back, caressing the dark images presented to him, and he watched the scarlet glow of his Father burning more powerfully, washing over everything including himself more noticeably then it had before, linked together symbiotically, or perhaps parasitically, with Arquen's excitement. He watched the shifting bodies of the orgy and deathly waves extending from the mouths of the Speakers unto the Nirn, the warmth within him furthering it's self immeasurably The arm about his neck reach up into his hair, running a long smooth gold hand through it before wrapping again at the base of his neck. Their fingers still joined together, with surprising flexibility for one so tall, Arquen suddenly swung up a boot endowed but otherwise bared leg over top Lucien's, and balancing on her other knee while simultaneously holding onto him, she pulled his head forward over her smooth shoulder, closer to herself, and again she buried her face into his neck. This time, however, the intent was more clear then an outlet for her moans. Her lips parted again and her teeth found their mark in his throat, narrowly avoiding his jugular, and Lucien drew in a nearly gasping, entirely silent breath as the veins in his neck rose, and another shock of adrenaline washed over him.

The twin punctures drew twin trickling streams respectively, and she fed herself upon them for a few moments, running her tongue over the mess, more droplets settling onto the already crimson stained covers below. As last she drew back, but only to a degree, holding on tighter and moving as he had done to her ear. She pressed her mouth to his ear, quickening the movements of her own hips, and began to coo into his ear lovingly, encouraging him further towards his climax as her fingers too caressed his own. Her blood stained full lips whispered so affectionately, the syllables travelling beautifully into his hazed mind, that in that suspended, dream-like moment, Arquen was not merely his fellow Speaker, nor his chaotic, primordial based lover, but truly his Mother, and _he _her earnest, attentive Listener. Apart from his quiet, steady breaths as he felt himself drawing closer, he listened to both her and the racing of his own heart.

She cooed pieces of the ancient songs of their Dark Family's, the Hymns reaching across the entirety of Tamriel, and she whispered words and passages of their texts as cruel as the Void... their Mother's word. She breathed the blessings of their Parents upon him, heaped the flattering, tender... and above all, truthful syllables of what it was he made her feel. None of the people she had ever loved, hated, killed or spared in all the many decades, not even her original family, had been able to stir her passions as he did her, quicken the raging fires of her blackened heart any further then they already were, and make her truly feel an emotion worth having and sustaining that went arm and arm with her hunger. It had not been the Parents who had given this to her, they had given her purpose and clarity, their understanding a constant, but not the illumination of another mortal bound to the Nirn capable of understanding and loving _what _she was, not reacting entirely in the fear she loved, for it grew so boring before long, but truly hearing her as an elf. A woman and an equal. He made her feel as if she were still in the fresh beginning of her earliest upbringings, in her maidenhood, and as she had when the Brotherhood had first come to her with it's offer, the offer each of them had extended to a great many. He was her favourite child, of a lifetime spanning century's being the only one she had ever shared something so unparalleled with, their souls as securely bonded to one another as they were to the Parents. Nobody would take him away from her. To listen to such utterly naked humanity, as she displayed so often with her facades of civility in his presence particularly, in spite of her insurmountable and deepened insanity, an insanity he had been drawn to to begin with for all it's potential dangers, was nearly enough to bring tears to his shadowed eyes.

At last, he too had reached the limits of his restraint, and with a heightened quickening and intense swelling of sorts through his heart, a mind shattering of pleasure following, Lucien's eyes were forced shut as he reached his climax. He could feel, even as the earth split apart about him, his face contorting and twisting, her nuzzling at his ear, a hand moving away from his neck to caress his face, his seed rushing into her, and their intertwined hands gripping tighter through the ecstasy. Sound again seemed to dim it's self to his ears, and in that instant he was in his own realm of pleasure, barred from any other. The movements of their hips gradually slowed down as the overwhelming sensation began to fragment and return him to the Nirn, yet still they held one another for a time, simply breathing, and Lucien's perceptions were just as gradually returned to him. He relaxed, caressing the elven beauty tenderly... yet her cooing had stopped, and sensing his returned focus, she withdrew slowly from his gradually relaxing manhood. Taking advantage of his dissipated energy, she pushed him back down upon the bed, climbing atop him a final time. His seed trickled steadily from her as she leaned down over him again, her eyes focused sharply upon the slowing stream of blood from his chest and neck.

Bending forward nimbly, presenting again her tattooed back to him, yet in reverse, she began to lap up both of the wounds with the long darting tongue and silky movements of a cat as the crimson glow of their Dread Father began to die down as she relaxed. Her warm tongue sent a plethora of sensations through him, even in the midst of his exhaustion, and she took her time before she was satisfied, and she withdrew, licking at the messy stains about her lips. The blood haze in her eyes, that crazed glint, had ebbed, but only to the smallest degree, and with that she moved off of him carefully and down to his side, propping her head back against the pillow residing there, breast rising and falling until her breathing gradually relaxed it's self. Her arm seemed to act on it's on instinctive nature, and it reached over to the bedside dresser for the bottle of mead she had brought from the table, and taking it swiftly, she drank as heavily from it as she had from Lucien, recovering from her fatigued state a little ways further with a resounding sigh.

Then she sat upright again, passing the bottle off to him abruptly, and climbed over his own relaxed form, rising up on her still boot endowed feet, and moving quite steadily for all the consumed liquor over to the cabinet he had deposited her things in, and as she opened it, Lucien too drank from the mead, savouring it as ever, another trickling of powerful warmth slowing his heartbeat. The candlelight caught the sweat glistening across her slender tattooed back, and in perpetual silence, she finally knelt slowly before the cabinet and undid the many straps and buckles of her boots. After removing the pair, stowing them away inside, the Speaker turned her attention to her other things within the cabinet as well as her cloak encasing them. She rummaged through each of them methodically, before reaching a leather satchel and producing a small bag, and from this bag withdrawing a single long, wrinkled bit of rolled parchment endowed with Cyrodill's freshest tobaccos. He knew how scarcely she consumed nicotine's, ingredients normally reserved for potion making as he and a great many others preferred to use them, and even then when she did take it's soothing effects into herself, it was only done on those occasions where she was truly satisfied, drawing an unseen pleased smirk from the Imperial, who had by now recovered himself from their joining entirely. Throwing the remainder of her things back inside, Arquen closed up the cabinet door with an echoing snap and made her way back over to bed, rejoining him upon it, laying back in the spot she had vacated. She rose the stained covers up, and together they slid beneath them side by side.

With a final languid extension of her long arm, she brought the tip of her cigarette to the closest flickering bedside candle and ignited it, taking a long drag from it, and causing it's now scarlet tip to glow even brighter. Releasing a cloud of swelling smoke in front of them, she breathed again more comfortably, face still almost fully stained with his drying blood as it did down her front and her running makeup, reminding Lucien of the face paint she had applied, now smeared together and overtaken by the more bright crimson of his blood... and when combined with the running darkness of the mascara around her eyes, he could not help but think distantly, and bemusedly, of a court jester . They shared the most comfortable silence they perhaps ever had, broken only slightly now and again by Arquen's drags. Each of their combined scents, hers somehow still of that enriched Vanilla that barely hid the smell of death surrounding her at all sides, each of theirs of blood and sweat, and when unified these scents created again an aroma they knew so well when together... a pheromone they had created together. She peered straight ahead expressionlessly to the sole gate in the chamber, as if counting the bars methodically, and Lucien merely watched the ceiling, drinking from the mead and passing it to her in between sips until they finished the remainder of it together. When it was done, he took it from her and set aside the spent bottle back on the dresser. At last, when she was nearly finished her cigarette as well, Arquen was the first to move. She wrapped a strong arm around Lucien's shoulder and drew him to her breast, holding him tenderly, yet with power.

As Lucien's arms responded, they enveloped her at once, his lips brushing against her throat most welcomely for a moment, the hand about his shoulders moved to his hair and soothingly ran it's long fingers through it, caressing it as she finished up. Beneath the covers, her slender feet rubbed alluringly against his, and now having inhaled the better section of her cigarette, before it could burn her fingers through its shortening, she discarded it's tiny remainder away from the bed onto the stone floor of the chamber, and lowered herself further down to the bed, both arms now pulling him closer, yet not breaking her careful stroking of his head. His manhood rested against her, and now and again, to her great pleasure, she still felt it stirring with fresh desire of her... though desire that would have to wait until their awakening before being exorcised again. A rare exhaustion and satisfaction had been brought to her as the effects of the tobacco wore off, rendering the many weeks since their last joining into dust. Both of their darkened eyes peered back into one another, thoroughly pleased with every moment of it, and holding respectively a trace of tiredness.

The evening had been perfect in every regard... an evening they would need to share more often whenever the time permitted it. Neither Speaker spoke to the other as morning drew closer, each awashed in their own thoughts as they held the other, Arquen smiling faintly, sharpened teeth glittering, Lucien's expression as calm and contemplative as ever, utterly relaxed. He truly was of another world it seemed to her... perhaps one that would be doomed to move on into extinction, one day... for apart from his heavy breathing as the joining had drawn to a close, her bites had not illicited a sound from him as it had an untold number of screams from others in her past. The manner in which he could detach himself from anything and take such silent pleasure was breathtaking in it's self, and the lack of judgement he passed over her ways. He thrived upon not just fear... but pain, agony...he could take it without breaking or yielding... as well as deriving the pleasure from it as surely as she did, making himself at home with it.

Her grip on him tightened impulsively, as a shade of rare fright passed through her being that he was a mere illusion or hallucination her mind had conjured that would slip through her fingers, and his own hold on her lower back tightened in response, reassuringly dissuading her fears that he knew of, and at this she could relax again. A hand moved upward beneath the covers, brushing over the spot where her breast was pressing up against his chest pleasurably and coming instead to the necklace and it's encased eye, and as he had prior, he slowly revolved it around in a circle several times, as if the hand it's self had been hypnotized by the unblinking frigidness of it's stare, very unlike the animal-like and heated one that was only now dying in Arquen's mind. Eventually, his hand slipped back to it's original spot beneath the covers, to the slender curves of her waist and joining the other, and again they held one another without the slightest movement. The cold, dank atmosphere of the crypt-like chamber enveloped the intertwined and charged pair like a protective aura, and before long, their own exhaustion could not be held at bay.

By the time darkness had plummeted over the chamber, the candles around them flickering and burning out at last, Arquen was the first to slip into her nocturnal dreamscape of despair, where echoing hollow screaming and bloodshed ran rampant, peacefully in his arms, and Lucien, closing his own slackened eyes at last, was soon to chase after her.

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><p><strong>Well, there you are folks xD *adjusts collar* Sort of surprised myself with that chapter. As it has been with my others, I will explain some of the ideas and inspirations in how I did this... starting with Arquen, who I saw as the main character of this particular piece, for I sought to establish her, give you a taste of her to follow you into the subsequent chapters in which she will play a vital role.<strong>

**With Arquen, I had to go very deep into her fractured psyche, in plain words, she is insane, infinitely more so then Antoinetta or any other brother or sister can ever be. I know just how much many fans out there hate her for what she did, and I took that into account by mirroring it in universe amongst the Dark Brotherhood... and was pleased with the results. I myself hated her for a time, until I realized what a great character she was... and that in doing the things she did, she was only being what she was. Really, she disturbed even me a bit by the end of her arc in this story. She is a harbinger of death, fear and destruction as well as a serial killer without the slightest bit of empathy for any not of the family... close to unthinking, but with personality for the most part. I see her long life as not having taught her a great many things as it did one like Vicente... did not develop her in most ways, but what it did teach her about death and suffering, as well as the particular skills the brotherhood is known for, were incredibly vast. I see her as scarcely rivaled, skill wise, having carried out a great number of contracts, to say nothing of those she has killed simply for her own pleasures. She is a predator with century's practice that have perfected her in this regard, an automaton of cruelty, and the perfect assassin. I rather think in most other ways, however, outside of these great skills that rose her to Speaker, she is still a vicous little girl pealing the wings off flys, burning insects with a lens of glass and dressing herself in fancy clothing and makeup as though she is playing a dress up game of sorts. I concocted the tale of her visit to Divine Elegance, and dismemberment of the girl working that night, the sister of the woman we meet in game there, as a way of conveying this, as well as the idea of tragedy being left wherever the Brotherhood goes. I can see Arquen as never having belonged anywhere in her life... perhaps even having been banished from particular places for her sadistic ways when she was young, ways acceptable to some, such as the Wood Elves (ill leave it to you too look into that one if you wish ;) ) but not acceptable to others. I do not know if some trauma made her like this, or if it's how she has always been... I'll leave that one up to you, the reader, to decide. In some regards, I actually came to pity her... though perhaps it was just because I went so far into her mindset and came to understand some of her thinking to a degree. She is something that cannot help what she is and has always been hated for it, an unavoidable thing... some monsters must simply exist to do what they do... it's what they are, who they are. Her joining of the brotherhood taught her to release all of her hatred, and to live life on her own terms, but also a sole purpose for existing, family. You all who have played the brotherhood storyline are accustomed to the rumors surrounding her... I wanted to differentiate her even further from brotherhood 'norms', in that she is a brand of evil unique in it's depravity, so much so that even other evils find her and her hedonism outright repugnant... save Lucien of course, attracted to the most savage of savage, being so open to variety, as well as being powerful enough to handle the danger of playing with fire...or perhaps napalm when it comes to her. The idea of evil having standards has always been a grey area both in real life and literature, for instance a cold blooded murderer is disturbed by rape, while a rapist perhaps cannot stand a cannibal. The idea that evil cannot entirely get along holds true for good, with some good people out there being optimistic, and other good people being cold mannered... really, morality is one of the largest topics of all, and I could talk about it all day.**

** On the other hand you may have noticed, since part two I gave her not the stereotypical race beliefs many Altmer are attributed with... I sought not to craft another Nazi attitude wielding elf with beliefs based on the superiority of race, and other such foolish things. I wanted of course to set her apart in every regard, not only from the brotherhood but from the views of Altmer as well, instead having her and Lucien joke around said issue such as races, as is done all the time in the real world. She is a monster, but very much a 'human' one, tying again together with the idea of evil having standards, and often contradicting it's self... including her ;). She is very much tolerant of other races, as you can see.  
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**For many of her details, I used other fictional characters and real life people as points for delving into her mindset as well as her outer self. Her belief that bathing in blood and consuming it can extend her youth is a play on a similar pattern of thought once held by a real 16th century Hungarian Countess by the name of Elizabeth Bathory, herself a serial killer who tortured and bathed in the blood of hundreds of virgins. I based the intricacy of her tattooing, how big a part it is of not only her body but her mind, as well as the way she keeps her teeth sharpened and powerful in light of her... interests, upon The Toothfairy Killer from the novel and movie Red Dragon. I figured the addition of the tattoo could not only show the history of the brotherhood, but her own, at the same time showing how much it all is apart of her every it is said from other family members who claim to hear Sithis, that Sithis speaks to each family member differently, I can see her version of hearing of him as being tied directly into her tattoo... a tattoo done to connect her even deeper with her Father, a shrine of sorts she carrys with her, in his honour, allowing her the feeling of being closer to him then most others can claim to be.  
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**The idea of having the ink alive and moving was my own as well, I figured it could give another dimension of eeriness to it to have it constantly shifting... even following and shaping around her moods. As for how and when she might have gotten it... I definitely see it as a series of enchantments gathered over the course of century's ;), and the designs themselves come from various pictures i've seen off the internet, as well as from the game, blended together. Now, as far as her front, that is to say her grotesque self mutilations and scarification, I based such upon Clive Barker's The Hellbound Heart, as well as the series of films spawned from it, known as Hellraiser, and studied pictures on the net of similar body art and modifications. The center most antagonists, the mutilated keepers of a realm where pain and pleasure are indivisible of each other, the Cenobites, have left a deep impression in me since I saw Hellraiser as a kid (and subsequently turned it off after the first scene until I was a little older, when I loved it). I saw a spark of sadomasochism to Arquen's personality, something I thought Lucien shared to a lesser degree, and as such sought to make it clear just how far she's into it... a lot of stuff going on under those black hand robes I tell you ;). Also on the note of Cenobites, I added Arquen's aroma being that of vanilla, which is what they are described as smelling like... a lovely contrast to the horrific nature of what they are and look like. As far as the risk of infection goes for such devices being grafted into her flesh, in the real world it would be cause to worry perhaps... but in a world of magic with potions and elixirs? I see no realism difficulty's. Another real life example I have crafted into Arquen's persona, is that of a strange bipolar manner to her... something an ex lover of mine used to, and still does, display quite frequently to the point it is and always has been perplexing. Interesting, but entirely strange. There are times I wonder if it's in her control or not... and she is utterly goddamn frustrating one moment, and behaving sweet the next. Keeps one guessing, never predictable or careful either, so I thought that would work well with what I knew of Arquen's childishness. In spite of Arquen's childishness, I felt there to be the other part of her, that of a dominant lover, over even one such as Lucien... it just made sense to me when I considered it... Arquen having a need to dominate all aspects of her life, though that's not to say Lachance is meek of course, merely that as the far calmer and genuinely more sophisticated of the two, he is perfectly fine with it either way... Arquen on the other hand has the resistance to not being in charge, but can ignore it for Lucien at times. I figured this to be another telling feature of her state of mind, constantly wanting matters to be on her own terms. As far as her smoking goes, I took that from a friend of mine who does, and who also served as a starting point for me with the tattoo.  
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**One idea I have hinted at in this chapter is the idea of Arquen being Lucien's mother, so to speak... the thought stayed with me, the idea of her having been the one to pay visit to him one night as he slept, inducting him into the ranks of the Dark Brotherhood as he had Antoinetta, was an interesting one, considering the incestuous undertones of the Brotherhood... but I choose not to canonize this particular tidbit in terms of the story... again, I want you the reader to decide if that bit is true for yourselves, what I think about it does not matter, it is there for you as much as it is the story... some things are left open ended. Perhaps it was merely diolouge apart of their flirtation, perhaps something more.  
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**This chapter also includes some build up on the state of the Black Hand, showing you just how the others are behaving from the perspectives of these two, which will be more carefully shown in the next chapter, of course, among other things. I hope you all enjoyed this section of the story, that it has set the tone for what is next to come, a gathering of the Black Hand.**

**Any reviews/comments and encouragements are of course always appreciated... and in light of the territory this is headed, could use some honest feedback. See you all next time ;) and walk always in the shadows of Sithis.  
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	5. Part 5: The Black Hand

**Anon: Thank you for the review... the only one my past chapter received, it gave me a hell of a boost when I needed one. It's an honor to be the reason you are giving your first review :). I am glad we are of the same mind in regards to the dark brotherhood, and that my vision of them is the same as your own... that really was one of the major factors for me writing this in the first place, the fact that many brotherhood story's sort of stayed off in their realism a bit far, or details were changed too much... I sought to depict the family as accurately as was possible... how I saw them in my head, and it's good to see I got this right in your eyes. When I started this story, I too thought it would get more attention... it wasn't out of arrogance or thinking myself great, just that I was exploring a part of the Brotherhood that hadn't really been done before, and exploring characters all we brotherhood fans love. Shows what I know eh? xD sometimes that's the way it is... maybe one day many will appreciate this story, for now, I can live with the fact that at least another likes it, and I will be posting the rest for sure. Still, it is disheartening sometimes. As for my writing style, how it can be overwhelming, I have heard as much before... and honestly, im just a passionate kind of writer, and want the reader to have every detail as I see the imbedded into their heads xD. I like to describe characters well right off the bat so I don't have to do so much later. I do understand the drawbacks of such a writing style, but at the same time I see it as helpful to this particular story universe... it is surreal, dark and bizarre, just like it's characters... I don't know, it's hard to explain, but I will take your helpful critique into mind and try to reduce the description overload in some places... thanks for the honesty, and I hope you like the rest of the story :).**

**Well, my last chapter wasn't so well received... perhaps it was the graphicness I depicted, that does it for some people...sort of frustrating, but ah what the hell lol. On with the show. This chapter, as said previously, shall cover another family higher then the Cheydinhal sanctuary, that of the Five ruling the Brotherhood... but I will talk more about the chapter below, so read on my friends:**

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><p>A great unwelcome and thickened fog hung draped over the dank city of Bravil that evening... far from uncommon in such a place year round, and truly matched up with the grime, landscape and the muck of the city. The fog, to say nothing of the nearly rancid smell hanging perpetually over the land, was greatly hated by the guards of the city, whose brightest torches could scarcely help them against the lack of visibility, and the many of the homeless hiding in their alleys to avoid the rising mist. Others of the evening, those of money, the nobility, the shop and home owners paid little attention to the seemingly daily fogs, for they alone had the luxury of not truly having to do so, not having to wander the streets, safe and secure within their well lit homes with tables of food. For some, however... for very few, at least in relation to the population of the city, the fog was a nocturnal gift, and one far from under appreciated by them. It was a blessing upon their purposes for being present that night. Moving in a seemingly slow, dreamlike manner, a quartet of robed and hooded silhouettes, one far taller then the other three yet not standing at the front, passed quite calmly and comfortably through the rolling mist, unseen to all, entirely at home with their surroundings, embracing them as no other of the night did. To them the fog was a lover, not something to be reviled and looked down upon. The animation of their movements was so liquid-like and otherworldly that they could have inspired dread in their gliding silhouettes alone for those unfortunate enough to cross their paths, though for the great fortune of the citizens, none of them did encounter the four that evening.<p>

They passed as a single entity, in perfect step with one another, amongst the closely built wooden houses, many of which being run down and in great disrepair, of the damp city's main street, slipping past the alleys until they had reached the front stoop of a particular ground level home, each coming to a stop at the same time before the door as if responding to a single telepathic command. One of the silhouette's took a single step forward, standing a little ways at the forefront of the others now, and it was this humanoid shape that took charge of the situation, and rose it's gloved knuckles, knocking firmly yet oddly respectfully upon the chipped and cracked old door. Moments passed following this curious rapping, and again, the figure drew up it's fist, knocking with the same intent, a little more loudly then before, lowering it's arm back to it's side again and waiting patiently for a response. In the mist the four stood bathed in perpetual silence, not a one looking to another... their focus mutual and assured.

At last, the muted quartet heard the familiar stirrings within the home before them as the echo of audible footfalls carried closer to the door, and with a plethora of assorted locks and bolts from top to bottom being slid back, slowly, it's hinges at last parted, and strong candlelight came filtering out into the fog. Another silhouette, one smaller then each of the others who had come, filled the doorway, and holding a cast iron lantern a little ways further in front of himself, the rung creaking, he illuminated the unexpected the four to his perceptions.

Ungolim's darting gaze adjusted to the quartet peering right back at him, an icy basin of emotion being loosed and washing over his insides, freezing him, even in the sweltering humidity of the Bravil evening that seemed not to effect these four. The small Wood Elf looked truly alarmed in that instant, clad not in the nightwear so many others would have adorned at such an hour, nor the obscuring robes his visitors wore, but elegant dress-ware, as if he were a wealthy guest had come straight from a late night party of sorts for the nobility. He wore a fine green brocade doublet over his midsection with a matching pair of silk pants measured perfectly to his body, and silk, fancy shoes. His chestnut toned, slicked hair was kept rather short, and his nearly olive toned face smooth, befitting of his particularly nimble elven race, his long pointed ears freely displayed to all. His face, despite his true age, somehow seemed to hold traces of an undestroyed youth within it's depths, properly illuminated in the light for all to bear witness to, as though the years he had lived were incapable of reaching him... merely a boy trying to dress as his father might.

His pale green eyes widened sharply as comprehension broke though the sensations within himself, and he realized _who _stood before him, eyes shifting, swivelling back and forth, his lips parting and releasing a hurried, anxious whisper as an excitement seemed to glow and expand in him, mixing now with his numbed shock.

"All of you... my dearest friends... all of you here to see me, together again like this... after all this time... I... I...-

He stopped suddenly, breathing ever more deeply as he studied each of the hooded figures of his Speakers from left to right with relish. The Dunmer visitor was the first to catch his studying, startled eyes, and Alval Uvani's seemingly permanent ugly and scathing scowl merely deepened the numerous lines etched into his ash toned face below the hood. His arms were already folded across his midsection in a manner Ungolim had missed seeing, utter venomous biting cold peering back from a pair of misgiving scarlet iris's. Every ounce of the man screamed that he did not want to be present as he was now, and had probably had to be dragged to Bravil against his will kicking and cursing by the others, a mental image that made Ungolim smile in spite of himself. For all the anger in him... it was still something merely to see him again, to have him in the flesh... and not in ink. The figure next to him, more obvious then each of the others on the front stoop, and the sole female present, an Altmer, towered with ease over Ungolim even more noticeably then the other three, yet stood a little further at the back then the others. Arquen did not hold in her eyes the maddening, demented glint and irresponsible passion that she had brought to his front step many months prior with her last visit. She looked not as alive as she always used to, but instead utterly withdrawn and drained of energy, ill... even, to Ungolim's deeper shock still, somehow actually _frightened_. It was something in the way she stood that gave it away... a reluctance of sorts he could not remember ever seeing. _Her_, of all people... fearful. It was this bizzarity that wiped the previous smile that had been drawn to Ungolim's face out of existence. Her pale golden skin was perhaps an entire shade or two lighter then it had been before, unhealthy looking, as one might appear after vomiting. Her stricken dark eyes touched his own with some familiarity, but only, it seemed, with about as much reluctance. She was more withdrawn inside herself then she was truly present with the others, but nevertheless, she paid close attention to what was occurring around her. The Imperial man she stood closest to was the next to capture Ungolim's attention, and he stood in the forefront, unsurprisingly the one who had knocked at his door to begin with... the unspoken yet clear leader figure amongst this four.

Lucien Lachance stood directly before Ungolim silently, his stubble shaded face, the hair present thickened more so then was customary for him, was tightened, foreboding and as ungovernable as it was indeterminable. As with the others, there was nothing humorous or gentle in his eyes or stance... rather he looked as though he had been chiseled from stone for all the movements in his face. Ungolim could feel the unmistakable nearly overwhelming aura of dark power radiating off of him, as he always had, his presence almost intoxicating and somehow awe inspiring to match, taking Ungolim off guard again at feeling his presence after such a time. The final robed figure was a lean, strong one, and stood as rigidly as Lucien beside him, and was the figure he had seen the most frequently as of late, and therefor the least able to surprise him... a Khajiit primed to become his replacement one day. J'Ghasta was grim faced and serious, his long fur encroached tail flicking about unconsciously behind himself and glowing feline's eyes nearly as intent as Lucien's own, yet unlike him, or any of the others, he was the first to nod respectfully to his Listener, bowing his head forward for a few moments before raising it again. Of the gathered Speakers, he alone had not brought a visible weapon, be them on his belt, in his mouth, or tucked away in his boots, rather they hung loosely down at his sides in the form of the masterful fighter's covered arms, gloved hands and solid boots of leather.

There was a strange collective presence to each of them as they were standing together, one these entirely different beings across the grand scheme that was sentience had brought with them... pieces of a puzzle that had been separated for far too long, joining back together as one. The nature of their grimness frightened Ungolim, had taken him off guard, but his pulsating excitement could not be denied so easily even by this. To see them all again reminded him of old times and experiences long passed they had all shared together, including himself, and he struggled with himself for all he was worth, images of a better time returning to him, memories he had savoured and held close in his darkest, most trying moments to give himself strength. Their range, to say nothing of their physical appearances was breathtaking, from embittered anger, to insanity, from a deathly calm to a self assurance, _these_ four brought it _all _to him, and made him feel as he had not in a time longer then he cared to remember. He felt whole again... felt as though the world around him were not moving on without him, instead slowing so he might be able to catch up... and he longed to embrace each of them.

"...I-If I had _known_ you were all coming, if I had known we would be t-together like this... I would have... would have...-", Ungolim's raising, nearly quivering voice fell short, breathing so deeply his lungs nearly ached as greatly as his swelling heart. Yet he remembered himself, in spite of it all, remembered regretfully, painfully, his position within the Brotherhood, and his duty to the Mother, the responsibility's that went above each of the friends, brothers and sisters he loved the most. His welcoming, vibrant eyes changed themselves abruptly as though inhabited by another, narrowing intently upon the man at their forefront, his voice holding lingering touches of anger that began to burn brightly with his most bitter emotions. _"What_ are you all doing here like _this_? Have you _no_ idea how _dangerous _it is for us to all be here in one place together? _All_ of you know better then this! Were we to be discovered speaking together by an outsider... one of our many enemies... _Lucien_! This is entirely _your_ doing, isn't it? These things have _always_ been _your _doing!".

"It is _wonderful_ to see you again as well, dear brother", The Imperial's low, oddly enticing voice replied silkily for all of them, striving to ignore the Listener's clear anger that was drawing up the barrier between them all. "Might you be so kind as to invite us over your threshold? I _assure_ you, your time will _not _be wasted in doing so."

"What are you doing here?", Ungolim demanded again without hesitation, his accusing eyes moving across the four piercingly before settling back on the unmoved Imperial, holding him in his glare. "I didn't call together this meeting... our meetings are to go _directly _through me! _I _call them together! You didn't even send a letter beforehand warning me!".

"There was _no_ time to do so, Ungolim", Lucien answered just as swiftly, now having to ignore the foundations of contempt beginning to form in the pit of his stomach. Were the situation not what it was, his temper would never have been so easy to stir, but the foot dragging of the neglectful Bosmer had steadily been becoming too much... far too much, and now, in light of what had occurred, most certainly _was _too much... and yet it continued in spite of the common sense they each should have had as a Black Hand. Lucien's patience was wearing thin and nearly at the breaking point as the direness surrounding them grew all the more worse, but he held on with what effort he could spare. "Our arrival here was far too hurried to write, and necessarily so. You have my apologies, but we must speak with you at once... and it would be safer to tell you what has brought us if we were to do so inside. The fog will not disguise our words from any passing guards or citizens as it does our forms."

"You will tell me _now_ Lachance, not later!", Ungolim insisted coldly, rising to his fullest height, which was not a particularly impressive action, more one that was built in to the minds of a great many individuals in a position of power and pride. "I have _given _a command, and before you enter my home I would very much wish to know damn well what has brought you all here tonight!"

A silence followed these stinging words as if splashed across the Speakers. Uvani's glare was becoming, somehow, that much more pronounced following this demand, while Arquen had looked entirely away from the Listener and Imperial's exchange and was blankly peering off into the distant rising of the mist, drawing herself further from the exchange. J'Ghasta's startled gaze swivelled between Lucien and the well dressed Bosmer, his eyes filled with uncertainty, but seemed unable to speak. The deathly calm remained within Lucien, even as his words returned, no longer entirely kindly in nature to the other who was standing in their way.

"Ungolim... you are _my_ Listener... _my_ brother, and I love you as I love all my Family, just as I pay reverence to the importance of your incomparable and difficult responsibility's.", Lucien admitted at last quietly, his veiled eyes studying the small blustering elf, who was suddenly startled out of his anger at this profession. A shade of black ice, of malice barely kept in reign, passed over Lucien's voice as he went on further. "That said, you are also a short sighted little man prone to, inadvertently I am sure, acts of outright _bumbling_ and _incompetence_. Things _not_ to be expected of a Listener. Do you _truly_ believe, after _everything_ I have done for the Brotherhood, after the things you have _witnessed_ me performing in our Mothers name, for even an instant, that I would call together a full meeting of the Hand were it not of the most pressing and direst nature? Do you _actually_ think I would waste _any _of our precious time? This is a situation that demands your undivided attention Ungolim, do you understand what I am saying?"

The weight of these words carried throughout them, J'Ghasta clearly disapproving of the powerful tone of coldness uttered upon his Listener, yet remaining silent, unable or unwilling to dispute them. Uvani's ever deepening scowl agreed entirely with Lucien's declaration, while Arquen seemed, as before, detached from the workings of the exchange, eyes searching the fog for any passing guards. Yet, Lucien's insurmountable power, despite not actually being the Listener, could not be so easily brushed aside, and Ungolim's anger diminished entirely within him, wilted and died instantaneously. His Speaker's manner was of the utmost intent, just as the urgency of his arrival was palpable. It was a plain fact that he spoke the truth, as he always had, as he always would... and Ungolim, the Listener himself was humbled by the unnaturally calm, foreboding man.

"I... _yes_... yes, I do. I know you would not waste our time here, I just... I apologize Lucien... I have not been myself lately...", Ungolim replied at last, releasing a low almost exhausted sigh as though it had been he who undertook the journey to Bravil, breaking eye contact with Lucien. He stepped further back in the doorway so as to allow them more room, and with his free hand, ushered for them to come inside. "Please, come in, forgive my surprise, you have all come a long way. We have much to discuss this evening, it would seem."

"_Yes_", Lucien replied more quietly. Although he was the closest to the door, he held back for a few moments, turning his attention to the silent Arquen who had at last returned her attention to the others, and courteously motioned for her enter first, keeping back J'Ghasta and an impatient, less then pleased Uvani until she had stepped through the door, stooping low to avoid hitting her head on the door-frame as she entered the home. The Khajiit and Dark Elf followed closely after her once Lucien lowered his hand, the trio passing Ungolim in the tiny hallway, with Lucien following suit at last, studying again the diminutive Listener, who was forced again to meet his brother's deep gaze. "We most certainly _do_."

Turning his eyes from the Listener, Lachance followed the others into the home, leaving the Bosmer momentarily to close and lock the door back up in a meticulous flourish. Once he had completed the lock up, Ungolim set aside his lamp on a hook beside the door, turned and sped down the hall after them, his footfalls echoing through the home, to find the dark quartet standing uncomfortably in his cramped kitchen, peering about it with uncertainty, as though entirely out of place with their surroundings. He nearly laughed in spite of himself at the sight, surprised at the rare, welcome feeling of such an urge, but repressed it lest they be put off, instead directing them over to a carpet in his living room. Pulling it and the piece of furniture over top of it aside, he revealed the trap door to the secret basement that lay beneath, where they had before held such pressing meetings in the past, and he grabbed the handle, pulling it open for them, revealing the long ladder leading down into the single room below the house. The dusty door creaked as it responded, and Ungolim motioned down to the dark chamber lurking below.

"Please make yourselves at home", He insisted graciously of his Speakers, his eyes moving beyond them, over to the staircase leading up to his attic. "I'll be with you in a moment... I have to change into the proper attire to make our meeting official, of course".

"Of course", Lucien echoed quietly, and with the same gentlemanly manner as before, was sure to let Arquen move to the ladder first, obstructing the other two Fingers again.

Once she started down carefully, Ungolim moved past the angry faced Dunmer scowling at Lucien, and the silent Khajiit, moving up towards the attic, his small form vanishing around the corner, yet his footfalls and the creaking of the stairs above remaining. When he was gone, J'Ghasta was the next to start forward and lower himself down into the basement, followed by Uvani and at last Lucien. Adjusting his robes at the bottom of the Ladder, the Imperial Speaker turned to find his Altmer companion already lighting the various empty candles and torches scattered freely about the room, enclosing her hand upon the top of the torches, flickering and glowing yellow and orange flames dancing from her fingertips and igniting each of them, as well as a large fireplace, dispelling much of the stifling darkness in one fell swoop of this magical display. The illuminated basement lay before them, more spacious then any other room in Ungolim's house... and unlike the other rooms, it was devoted entirely to their ways, and to the unceasing work of the Listener.  
>The beloved scarlet and black banners of the Black Hand were adorned about the room's walls, and on it's far side rested a single long work desk with a great deal of drawers, ink containers and quills, to say nothing of the many bundles of parchment, both written by him, and letter received by each of his speakers, which were sorted into four large piles. The messy desk was entirely disordered and chaotic, as if it had not been cleaned out in years, but perhaps there was a method for such chaos, as it was with Lucien's own workplace, known only to Ungolim, the one who had created such an atmosphere. The surfaces of a great many tables around the room, as well as an open pantry holding within it a rack of many fine, vintage wines of assorted tones, followed in with this messy pattern as well, with the addition of thick stacks of books all over the place, many of which held a book marker within, the book shelf almost entirely empty.<p>

Matching wooden chairs were scattered about the room, and Lucien drew up a pair of these for himself and Arquen, positioning them beside one another, while J'Ghasta, after having put a fresh bundle of wood on to the fire, jabbing at it several times with the poker close at hand, drew up another pair at the centre of the room and facing them, for himself and the momentarily absent Listener, taking his seat first. Pulling back the chair for Arquen, she lowered herself into it, thanking the Imperial quietly with a trace of a faint forced smile, and he took his own seat, folding his hands together, grim as before, not even the surroundings the five friends had shared together over time for their meetings being enough to evaporate the coldness he felt within himself. Uvani alone stood for a time, merely scowling about the room as if it were of little interest or concern, his arms still crossed. How very much he resembled another dear brother in that instant to Lucien, the wry thought forcing it's self into existence, yet evaporating about as quickly. At last, glancing about the cluttered basement one final time, the Dark Elf found another chair, roughly brushing off the books and papers covering it, all of which tumbled out and onto the stone floor in heaps. He set it up not quite in the centre of the room, but rather away from them, at the least cluttered table directly beside the fireplace, and he watched the other silent Speakers with the same ugly scowl from within his hood, and he sighed tiredly after awhile, leaning his annoyed, sunken face against his fist as he waited.

The only noises within the illuminated basement were those of the logs catching in the fire, and the ticking of a great clock in one of the room's far corners as the four Fingers waited for the Thumb to rejoin with the Hand. J'Ghasta's hands for that matter fiddled unconsciously with one another, as if entirely uncertain what they should be doing, and Arquen peered down dispassionately into her lap, altogether disquieted, while Lucien merely stared ahead to the ladder, scarcely even blinking, a living statue as ever. Eventually, another sound joined with the crackling of the fire and ambient ticking of the clock, that of Ungolim's shoes making their way back to the basement, and sure enough, a moment later the Speakers watched as the diminutive legs of the Bosmer came into view, clad in his own set of midnight black robes as, closing the hatch behind himself, he climbed down the ladder. Now within the basement, he turned to them, raising his hood carefully, and pacing quickly to the centre of the room where they had waited mostly with patience.

"There we go", Ungolim muttered as he finished adjusting the front of his dust congregated robes, turning his eye to each of them and coming to a stop before his chair, standing in front of them. "Now that that's over with... I suppose it would be best if we began at once... Lucien, would you be so kind as to...-

He trailed off, his intent clear, and lowered himself into his own seat next to J'Ghasta, leaning forward slightly and with this action, the latest meeting of the Black Hand commenced.

Lucien studied his Listener for no more then a second before turning his attention to the High Elf at his side. Sensing his eyes, Arquen glanced up with reluctance from her lap and met his gentle gaze, already knowing what he was to ask of her, and hardly looking forward to it.

"The account was delivered to myself first and then the others when we went to them, by Arquen... as it was first to her by her Silencer", His grim voice replied at last to Ungolim, his eyes slowly drifting back to his Listener intently. "It would only be proper if she were the one to tell you. Go ahead, my dearest sister, please tell him exactly what you told us... and assume whatever pace you require to tell it. It's alright".

The atmosphere seemed to grow colder as another silence descended over the basement, in which all, even Uvani from his isolated seat at the fire, paid complete attention to the Altmer woman. Arquen seemed to struggle to begin, visibly apprehensive like the child she wasn't, searching for something unpleasant within herself, tangling with it, and for a moment, it seemed she would not be able to start... until she met Lucien's eyes again, and he nodded slowly, more encouragingly, flitting into her the courage needed to commence. She spoke finally, her voice unusually, alarmingly quiet, empty even, particularity considering how well they each knew her, yet every word was very much audible in the echo of the room. Her eyes moved to the focused, concerned Listener, to whom she gave the story the others had already heard.

"You know already of the ongoing investigation that Lucien and I started, alongside my own Silencer Shaleez, and his Blanchard, in regards to the increasing and unacceptable number of disappearances of our Brothers and Sisters... disappearances we have already voiced quite explicitly and potently to you some time ago, and which in return for our concerns, we have received little to no assistance, or indeed, any real acknowledgement in."

At this reminder, Ungolim shifted in his seat uncomfortably while J'Ghasta glanced away for a second as though himself personally stung, and although Arquen paid no notice to each of these occurrences, Lucien most certainly did, his thin lips tightening forbiddingly but forming no words.

"We told you of our concern of a Traitor burrowing like a parasite into the body of our Brotherhood, into our Family's, and striking out at the ones around them, murdering Family members... but you did _not_ believe us. All three of you for that matter, did _not _believe us. You all needed more 'evidence' to substantiate our apparently false accounts. Even as the murders of our lower ranking Brothers and Sisters have become more undeniable even to you, you cited the Imperial Legion, Amadeus Philida in particular, as being the man behind it all. This is not so... and that much was obvious to us from the start. You wanted undeniable proof and not merely 'wonton speculation'? Well, my Listener, finally we now have it, and we have received it in one of the worst possible way to match, far from a surprise, no? The Dark Brotherhood had been infiltrated by at least one individual, and has been striking at us from within, just as we have been telling you repeatedly time and time again. Are you finally ready to listen to reason?"

There was another rather unpleasant silence, one that Ungolim, apprehension dawning faintly upon his nearly youthful face, was the one to break, hands clasping either side of his seat.

"How can that be?", He asked quietly, wistfully, eyes widening and glancing about him as if hoping for one of the Speakers to reveal the meeting to be a mere practical joke at his expense. They did no such thing, the same grimness that much more evident and deepening with each passing moment. He looked back to Arquen who no longer seemed capable of even blinking, as rigid as the man at her side. "Infiltrated... how? When? What is this proof?"

Arquen picked up the reigns of her story again without a single hesitation this time. It seemed the more she spoke the words, the less the weight of the burden became... but the burden did not evaporate it's self entirely. Not at all... and perhaps in light of what would occur, never would.

"Shaleez and Blanchard's investigations took them out to Skingrad, where the latest group of Dark Brothers and Sisters have been murdered... _five_ of them set upon and burned in a single evening, a month ago. Again, I told you about this already in detail. They have been gathering more and more evidence as of late... yet four days ago, Blanchard received a letter from an apparent source within the Brotherhood, one claiming to have information, knowledge of the Traitors true identity and activity's. He made this known to Shaleez at once, rightfully fearing it to be a setup, a trap... in turn preparing one themselves. On that very night, he performed his duty, and went to meet with this individual in Skingrad. As a precaution, Shaleez followed him unseen with a collection of our best Brothers and Sisters in Skingrad, each of whom quite eager to help by now, into the alleys of the city. As they watched on, Blanchard reached the meeting point with our supposed generous source, and waited for an entire hour for this individual to turn up. Eventually, just when it seemed Blanchard was ready to call it quits, he was joined from an alleyway by a second figure in a hooded black travelling cloak. This individual spoke at great length with Lucien's Silencer... consulting deeply over something, we could not hear their voices from our distance, Blanchard began to relax in this others presence, not issuing the signal to our Brothers and Sisters, and for a time, it seemed nothing was to go wrong... that it was all to work out. It did go wrong, however... what am I saying? Of _course_ it did, or we wouldn't be sitting here now with this proof you so desperately required instead of simply taking our word and trusting us from the beginning. If you had, maybe the outcome could have been entirely different, and not yet another complicated layer to an already _bloody mess_".

Ungolim was on the verge of speech again, of defending himself perhaps, but his tongue failed him as, at last, a familiar glinting dark fire glowed in the High Elf's unreasoning eyes and reflected back at him dangerously, holding him perfectly in place.

"Do you _know _what this cloaked person did, Ungolim? Would you care to have three guesses at it? No? This murderous coward reached into a pocket, passed off a bit of parchment to Lucien's Silencer, and without hesitation plunged a frost enchanted blade right through his stomach as soon as he was preoccupied. Blanchard's body was nearly frozen in it's entirety as he fell to the ground clutching at a stomach that could and would not hold in the sheer pool of blood dispensing from him. The weapon pushed through his intestines, before retracting, but somehow, he didn't die right away. That would be far too merciful of the Traitor, now wouldn't it? It took him over an hour to reach his end, and when he did die, it was in the Skingrad Sanctuary, writhing on a bed in agony from the unbreakable frostbite and unrelenting blood loss the weapon had given him. In plainer words, inflictions the many potions and treatments could only slow as Shaleez did her best to comfort him, and finally he commenced his own journey to the Void... and his pain ended far later then it should have".

Ungolim's gaze peered blankly between the angered, pale gold Arquen who sat firmly upright as if on the verge of bursting from her seat and kicking over one of the tables and lunging, and the cold pitiless face of Lucien Lachance. The Listener released a single subdued breath, robbed entirely of words and thought, and J'Ghasta hung his head sympathetically, rubbing his furry face wearily. Uvani's expression alone did not change.

"Well, after the Traitor stabbed Blanchard and accomplished what they had come for, the cloaked individual spotted Shaleez and her Assassins coming and ran off into the shadows of the alleyways. Shaleez was unable to pursue him of course, her hands being rather full of Blanchard's blood and preoccupied at the moment. She ordered the Assassin's she was with to pursue this coward as she attempted to tend to him, and they _did_... they also _did not_ find the killer. These Brothers and Sisters who are amongst the best, nearly enough to become Silencer's themselves, and somehow this murderer slipped through their fingers and eluded them with ease, demonstrating a skill only those of the Brotherhood could ever hold. The parchment left behind by the traitor, if you care to know, was blank, save the subsequent stains. Do you _know_ what my Silencer did, even on the very night the one she loved so greatly had been murdered before her very eyes and when she might have been next, set upon as she travelled? She _performed her duty_, and in every regard showing the unquestionable loyalty she has always had to the Hand. She left Blanchard's body in Skingrad and came to me in Chorrol. She rode all night without stopping, and she visited me personally, and she told me the entire thing in every detail when she wanted nothing more then to curl up and have every ounce of herself die along with him. Against her insistence, I have ordered her to go into hiding, lest this Traitor attempt to strike at _her_ next for what she has bore witness to and passed along to the Black Hand... and the Skingrad Sanctuary is on high alert. I went to Lucien in turn... we went to the others and now we're here, and exactly _nothing_ is _still _being done about this situation".

Arquen's hands trembled with unbridled rage, clenching into the arm rests of the chair, her nails within their gloves digging into it. At this, Lucien reached over to her soothingly, laying a steadying hand upon her shoulder, and her breaths grew quieter over time as she recovered herself. Her eyes were drained and tired once more as she lifted them to her stunned Listener, the anger evaporating more quickly then it had come.

"So do tell me, Ungolim...", She finished, tilting her hooded head appraisingly, nothing less then cold condescension in her voice nevertheless. "How is _that_ for _'proof_'? Is that enough to satisfy you and your suspicions? The _death _of a Silencer? Or do the rest of our Brothers and Sisters have to die as well before you see any measure of reason? Does the Traitor have to be knocking on your front door with a sword and a torch before our evidence is considered legitimate?".

Ungolim slowly leaned back in his seat, head pressing back against it, and peering blankly over Arquen's shoulder to the wall beyond for a time in utter silence. Each of her words, her brutal words, were like arrowheads, yet he shrugged them off and managed to find himself, rising at last slowly to his feet, a deep, weary sadness overtaking his features. He folded his hands behind his back and began to pace up and down the centre of the basement, lost in a plethora of thoughts and his own concerns, before finally, he stopped altogether, redirecting his focus to the two who had taken the matter seriously from the beginning, and finally addressed them.

"Arquen... I thank you for bringing this matter to my attention with all due haste... and I wish for you to pass along my deep gratitude to Shaleez for taking the risk that she did... that they both did. I will write her a letter... I know it will do nothing, nor accomplish anything... but I want her to know I greatly appreciate this."

The Altmer Speaker seemed on the verge of speaking again, but did not form a reply... rather, unnoticed to the Listener, she glanced over with sickened disbelief to Lucien, meeting his knowing pointed look.

"Lucien...", Ungolim began again in turn, striving for a firm clarity in his voice as the Imperial's gaze flickered from the stunned High Elf and back to him icily. Arquen appeared to re-submerge herself into the manner of troubled distance she had arrived with, her recounting it turned out not having helped with it in the slightest. "I'm sorry to hear that this has happened. For all intents and purposes, I know that Blanchard performed his duty to the Mother and Father, to all of us, with a loyalty that earned him his position to begin with. You have my condolences, yet your Silencer now serves our Father personally... in the embrace of the Night Mother forevermore."

"_Indeed_ he does", Lachance's numbingly tranquil voice replied, quite a bit more deadly then before in tone, and nearly enough to make Ungolim recoil as though stabbed, forcing himself not to draw back further from him. "And it is a reward he has more then earned... yet, I do _not_ believe he would want his death to affect no change in the way you have been _treating _this situation. He died at the hands of the Traitor... and the only proper response in turn is the excruciating death of said traitor, as it should have been from the start. Death is the only adequate answer to the situation".

"Of course you are right", Ungolim answered hastily, waving a hand almost dismissively as if the matter were still of little account to him. He resumed his slow pacing up and down the stone floor, turning his back to Lachance, expression deepening, thoughtful, stroking his smooth chin. "This Traitor has struck now at the Black Hand it's self, at us _directly_... it would be unacceptable not to act _now_, and this heresy has to be addressed properly, lest the Traitor inflict any further damage upon the Brotherhood. I have already asked the Night Mother numerous times for an answer on the subject, however She has yet to-

A dark, icy rage seemed to rise up suddenly and ravenously like a living sentient entity swirling within Lucien Lachance at these words and suspend it's self around every fibre of his being, an anger so entirely rare for him that it startled the other Speakers, even Uvani's nearly permanent scowl ebbing for a split second with surprise. The Imperial released a low humourless laugh that, echoing in the confined room, paused the Listener mid sentence. As Arquen watched on now, raising her head with clear approval on her face, despite her prior lapses into the distance, he rose slowly to his feet silently, a glacial, frightening fury pouring into existence that stopped Ungolim in his tracks and suspended his hurried thoughts, a slate being wiped blank. Lucien's long shadow fell across the Listener and enveloped him as he drew closer, all eyes upon him, his own pair darkened with malice and flashing dangerously, and this time, Ungolim actually did take a large step backwards from him. The Speaker's gloved fingers coiled at his side as if resisting the temptation to draw the silvered sword from his belt and use it in many different ways upon the elf. In that instant, he was truly another being, the breathtaking Wrath of Sithis incarnate before the unsuspecting, terrified Listener. When he spoke, the cold, powerful anger still maintained an unnatural evenness, and was truly palpable as he peered down at the Wood Elf as if he had discovered Ungolim sticking beneath his boot.

"_Ahh_ yes... it is only _now_ so _very_ unacceptable and inconvenient for you, isn't it Ungolim?", He asked of the Listener vindictively, the gloved fist clenching tighter at his side, his thin lips drawing ever more taught like the constricting of a bow's drawstring. A thrill of shameful fear coiled around Ungolim's heart like a noose, yet he held himself fast to the spot, knowing the Imperial would _not_ strike him down physically, would _never_ break the Five Tenets. Verbally however, was another story entirely, for he was likely the greatest of the Speakers, and would perform this duty of speech without hesitation. This knowledge did very little to comfort Ungolim in his current predicament. "It is only _now _that the Black Hand has lost one of it's own that this situation requires or deserves any form of attention from you, or am I somehow incorrect in this belief?"

"Lucien, you know I-I only meant...-, Ungolim's voice quavered as he held up his hands powerlessly to cease the onslaught of his damning words. J'Ghasta looked extraordinarily uncomfortable as he watched on quietly, but Uvani did not seem to have this same problem. For the first time since arriving, he smiled a tiny, bitter and cruel smile of his own as he watched, teeth glinting, the Listener who had overworked him for the past two years to the point he could scarcely visit his own Family, the Family he loved, now standing on the other side of a much deserved verbal beating by the Brother who most deserved any of Uvani's respect. "You know I didn't mean...-

"Oh, I know what you meant Ungolim... I _know_. You, who could not be bothered to care as the brothers and sisters across Cyrodiil have been being brutally murdered by one of their own trusted family members, first one by one, then in twos and now in fives and probably in the _dozens_ come next month. _You_, who would not have your perfect world upset by something as menial as the _truth_. You have fooled yourself into believing that merely the title of a Dark brother or sister reflects the worth of their individuality, their existence, that the life of a Murderer is of little importance to the Night Mother and Dread Father. You have forgotten, as you have time and time again, that we have all started there at one time or another Ungolim, at the beginning! Do you even know that each of them was apart of a _family_ that loved them, and that in losing them so _prematurely_ as they have been, that they could never be the same? Do you know that to lose even one is like the separation of a limb? Do you know how many future memories have been obliterated? The joys they could bring to their family's? _No_, you wouldn't, _would _you? You've been hiding safely out here, and you and your Sanctuary have not yet felt the affects of losing one who has mattered to you, one that has mattered to the ones you love. Little by little appendages are being severed, and a great many family's are all but limbless now "

"This Black Hand is not the only entity of the Dark Brotherhood who has lost something, now, with Blanchard's death... do you not understand that? Each time this murderer strikes out, they strike at each and every one of us! They have been mutilating us with increasing vigour since Maria, one of those 'insignificant' children who 'got herself killed', as you put it, since murdering two from Arquen's own Sanctuary as well. Do you not see? I, Arquen, and I believe the other two Fingers present within this room have this evening an understanding in some form. This murderer is _beyond _being merely disturbed... they are now utterly and uncontrollably _insane_. Something has been _broken_ within them. This _whole_ situation was started so methodically, so carefully controlled like the pieces of a chessboard, a _game_, starting with a few deaths without the slightest trace of bodily remnants... and as such, taking advantage of your clear lack of _vigilance_. How would you believe there to be a traitor when so 'few', have been effected by the string of murders? You would not have the Black Hand cooperate from the start, rather you would have only myself and Arquen pay any attention to this when it should not have been _we _who started this investigation."

"It was _you_, our _leader_, who should have been the one with enough obvious foresight to realize the implications of these deaths. It was not the Morag Tong, not the Imperial Legion... and... what else did you try to convince us it was four months ago? The Thieves Guild? Oh my yes... the renowned guild known for their _complete refusal_ to kill whenever they thieve... and you would have _them_ become your scapegoat for convenience to continually dodge the issue of your own shameful inadequacy. Next I can see you blaming the Grey Fox personally, or the Dremora and Mehrunes Dagon slipping his foot steadily into our realm from behind their Gates, of being behind this... and as I recall, it took you quite some time to ask for the state of the Kvatch Sanctuary that was very nearly consumed with the _rest_ of the city. You will blame this treachery upon Dagon's Mythic Dawn servants infiltrating us, for did they not kill Uriel Septim, the Emperor _himself_, in the Sewers of his own rat infested Prison? It is so plainly obvious that this killer has been degenerating, deviating from a carefully layed plan similar to that which these Daedric worshipping Servants have displayed in their own foolhardy endeavours, and succumbing to the sloppiness and desperation their insanity had mutated it's self into."

"Did _not_ the sites of the Burnings myself and Arquen and our Silencers uncovered and glimpsed together somehow measure up to being adequate evidence in your eyes? The charred remains of Dark Brotherhood armour and severed limbs belonging to our fellow children of Sithis that the killer did not ensure were properly destroyed as they had the ones preceding it? The chaotic degeneracy of the recent killings? A great many things _should _have tipped you off to this killer's obvious existence and mind-state as they did us. The sheer demented stupidity of murdering Blanchard was merely the most obvious action on the Traitor's part yet, to so clearly attract a Silencer's focus and kill them publicly when the Traitor knew he was investigating the murders, and would therefore not be travelling alone. It didn't matter to this killer, they saw a threat to their process of dismembering us bit by bit, a threat to their plight, and they scarcely managed to think it out, pausing only long enough to formulate a plan to murder this single individual in a public place. They are out of _self control _Ungolim... and they will either somehow force themselves back into a calm, force themselves to get back to their original course of action, realizing themselves that they have become far too messy, or more likely they will continue in their blinding suffocating rage, and detonate against our Family's in a single massacre."

"They possess in them a great deal of skill, this can not be so simply written off... skill enough to lull a Silencer into a state of calm, of trust, and the cunning to distract them before killing... the skill to avoid detection by our best Assassins, and not even their insanity can change this constant. Who will be their next victim, Ungolim, as you stand so idly by? Shaleez and those of the Skingrad Family who personally bore witness to the Traitor's degeneracy? J'Ghastsa alone up in his isolated mountain town? Uvani over there who you send out onto the open roads so very often, courting a potential ambush should his schedule fall into the wrong hands? I or Arquen for pursuing them as long as we have been? How about _you_, the holder of the position that unites us, that allows us to operate as we do... you who _hears_ the Night Mothers will? Don't you see why She has refused to answer your reluctantly posed inquirys? It is a plain as the day to me, and I am not even the Listener. She wishes for we Five to be the ones to solve this trying situation, she is watching our resolve and our faith very intently, scrutinizing us and our diligence in this matter. We, Her children, cannot simply pour our problems on to Her and expect them to be resolved for us! _We_ must do it, _we _must honour Her by killing the Traitor with all due haste!"

"However, I will also say this Ungolim and I will say it now as plainly to you as I ever have, for I shall never demean the value of words where they are due by not speaking them when they are merited the most: for all the lack of concern up to this point that you have been displaying in regards to these deaths, the murders and the burnings occurring in the family's about you, family's bursting at the seams with fearful rumours and tidings, brushing off my own and Arquen's warnings and barely being able to invite us all inside tonight... were you _not_ the _Listener_, did I _not_ know you as well as I _do_, I would consider you to be the primary suspect of being behind these recent treacheries, and in the Night Mother's and Dread Father's name, the name of every Dark Family embedded into Tamriel's depths, and with my evidence, I would cleanse you from the Brotherhood."

A stony silence overtook them all, in which Ungolim peered up sorrowfully at his finest Speaker, whose wrath remained, yet now in a state of ever coolness, and the Bosmer still could not find the words to defend his actions... for truthfully, he knew there were none. The Imperial was entitled to his anger, an anger that had been steadily climbing, and even now that it had been admitted in the presence of them all, did not dissipate, merely relaxed it's self. J'Ghasta did not look as though he entirely agreed with each of his words, merely the consensus of them, for he himself regretted not having been of more help. What excuse had he possessed in not joining the investigation? He had not been overworked, he had been training and scarcely paying visit to his seemingly safe family in Bruma... a family it had painfully turned out was not so safe as he had once believed. Uvani continued to peer coldly to the Listener, their eyes meeting, scalding the Bosmer, having agreed with every single condemning word uttered, and having enjoyed them, savoured them, just as much. At last, J'Ghasta spoke up for the first time that evening, his rasping voice carrying with ease across them, and gaining the focus of the others.

"He is... _correct_, in many regards, Ungolim", J'Ghasta admitted reluctantly, still not much caring to look at the Imperial's eyes, rather to his numbed Listener he knew best. "This is a matter that should not have been overlooked as it has been. I could have done more, and I did not... I bear the weight of that, and I shall carry it. You have my apologies for my part in this affair, Lucien... you each deserved better then this, better then how we have been treating you".

"I do _not_ require them, for I do not _want_ them", Lucien replied more quietly, folding his hands behind his back and standing further upright. His cold gaze flickered between the seated Khajiit and the standing, pained Listener, each of them he could not help but love in spite of their infuriating problems. His logical, collected state of mind returned as the anger died down simultaneously, the calm in which he was renowned for amongst them, and he took the floor. "If you must apologize to anyone, it is to Arquen, Shaleez, Blanchard and the Father and Mother they each serve. I have said what needed to be said, and I shall say no more on it, regardless to what I feel otherwise. Rants and apologies are _not_ genuine actions, we _each _know this now. I only fear that this new found realization on your parts has come too late... let us hope for all our sakes it has not, and make up for our shaming of the Mother by concentrating all our utmost attention upon this henceforth. We cannot allow this treachery to continue on in any form whatsoever... we must pursue this investigation again with our combined efforts and a single agreeable mind. I would suggest, J'Ghasta, that yourself and Uvani bring this matter to the attention of your own Silencers. We must start at once where Blanchard and Shaleez left off, the city of Skingrad... likely the hiding place of the Traitor, unless they have moved on by now, and this would be a safe assumption to make. Yet, they may have left a trail behind pointing to their current location in their haste to escape our wrath... that said, a close brother of mine, the Vampire Vicente, whom each of you have already met of course, is on adequate terms with the Count there... perhaps we might be able to make use of that relationship and acquire Hassildore's willing cooperation in-

"_It's not Skingrad_", Arquen's dormant voice restlessly interrupted, nearly a whisper, and the other Speakers and the Listener turned at once to her at this, collectively startled at the manner of her unusually shaky tone. Her paling golden face peered down shamefully into her lap again, avoiding all form of eye contact from all sides, wringing her covered hands together and clasping one another tightly. "The Traitor... they aren't truly linked to _Skingrad_".

Lucien studied her with veiled alarm at this chilling statement, and he stepped away from Ungolim, making his way over to her and standing before her. When she continued to avoid his eyes, he lowered his hand gently to her chin, and knowing his urgency, she was forced to meet his imploring gaze again, and he sensed the uncommon all too real fear swirling within her the instant her eyes touched his.

"_What _are you trying to say, dearest sister?", Lucien spoke to her carefully, gazing unblinkingly down into her eyes, attempting to reach and pluck the answer that lay within them himself. Her manner somehow gave everything away yet hid everything in some peculiar contradicting way. She was visibly working up the strength to talk again, and in near silence, they waited for her to do so. "What is it that has been bothering you for this entire journey to Bravil? When I glimpsed your eyes after telling me first, I was certain something more was eating at you from within."

"When Shaleez came to me...", Arquen began at last slowly, glancing to the others, Ungolim overtly curious, J'Ghasta rapt, even the glaring Uvani now sitting bolt upright, having stopped leaning on his hand and was now watching her intently. Shame passed across her features as her attention resettled on the inquisitive Imperial she loved most. "She told me something _else_... something I haven't told you all. I thought it would be for the best to wait until we were _all_ together... but I _should_ have told you at Fort Farragut, Lucien... and I _didn't_... I wanted to but I... I _couldn't_. I'm...-

"_Out_ with it!", spat an impatient Uvani suddenly with every bit of the deepened venom coherent on his permanently scowling features, banging his fist on the table he occupied. He peered with unveiled dislike upon the startled High Elf, and both she and Lucien looked over to him at once with the others. He was on the verge of rising from his seat himself and pacing about the room, and only barely restrained himself from doing so. His jaw tightened unpleasantly as his brow furrowed deeper, hardening his face into ashen stone, scarlet eyes burning in the firelight. "You are a _Speaker_ for the Black Hand, Arquen, not a snivelling stupid _little girl_ incapable of forming a sentence without stuttering! Stop dancing over the issue and exercise that most important of required duty's, the movement of your tongue, for something other then fluid exchange and the stimulation of your _precious _lover here!"

Although there was cold condescending amusement to his voice at the mention of this known fact, it couldn't be any plainer he cared more for what she had to say then any going ons occurring between the Altmer and Imperial Speaker's. Arquen turned, and did not maintain her gaze upon the angered Dunmer, yet her eyes misted over darkly and became more frosty nevertheless. In another time however, all five of them knew equally, her reaction would have been _quite _different from her unsettling new found silence, signifying the importance of what she held on to. J'Ghasta and Ungolim each shot a respective clear look of distaste that the Dunmer caught, yet ignored very much unapologetically, pleased with himself even at his manner. He was leaning forward now, scarcely blinking by the firelight beside him, and Lucien merely watched him like a fly from the corner of his eye, and finally chose, against his better judgement, to address the bitter faced Dark Elf. Revolving on the spot, slowly lowering his fingers from Arquen's soft chin, he studied his smirking Elven brother more closely, as if he had just arrived in the middle of the scene, bursting in on their meeting.

"_Ah_... I was waiting for your unique brand of coarse... _charisma_, to shine it's way into the conversation and illuminate us, grace us even, with it's marvellous presence", Lucien commented softly, more to himself it seemed then the Dunmer, whose scarlet eyes narrowed further and further together as he sneered. J'Ghasta looked on the verge of speech against Uvani, but the Listener close by silenced him with a polite gesture, so as to allow Lucien to continue unhindered. "You must have been thinking up that one for the entire journey here, all that silence after your initial cursing streak. Really, I am more surprised you managed to keep it in check for so long... the mood around here was growing almost welcoming."

"You _know_ me, Lachance", Uvani coldly replied, his manner biting, rallying at once at this insincere observation with ease. "I would _so _hate to disappoint you."

"Of course it would disappoint you, Ulval", Lucien replied agreeably, nodding along respectfully with an amiable smile. His knowing dark eyes glittered again with a note of familiar malice that belied his nature. There was no true anger to him as he spoke, Uvani's rudeness was more a necessity that demanded his attention then it was a problem. "And you brought your ever contradictions with you this evening as well, it would seem... for, not yet even knowing the nature of her unspoken words, their burden, you give Arquen as difficult a time over speaking something as possible, when this evening you have been remaining mightily quiet yourself. You pretend that what is going on in this room does _not_ bother or affect you as much as it _does_, yet you can scarcely keep still or patient, and you insist upon interrupting when she _tries_ to speak... really, by now I should have thought you would have developed some form of acceptance to your, forgive the term for it's obvious lack of tact or political correctness, _humanity_, amongst us. Your lack of civility, _chivalry_ for that matter, particularly amongst the presence of a woman, precedes you, my brother. You attempt to insult each of us with your unmitigated and unmerited observation in regards to the nature our relationship... yet you have most surely _not_. There is a childishness to it, amongst the other things you hold dear, that I never thought would come from a fellow Speaker. Still, you _are_ charming in your own crude and brusque way... and I love you in spite of it... or perhaps _because_ of it. There is something about _primitiveness_ that is sometimes so oddly refreshing... yet now is _not_ one of those times, dear brother. You would do well to learn the importance of timing with your cutting remarks, Uvani, and not spout them randomly in the hopes of interrupting a fellow Speaker, and out of such a simplistic desire to be rude to each of your brothers and sisters. There was, quite simply, _no _call for it".

J'Ghasta, and even Ungolim, still recovering from Lucien's demonstration of rare anger, traded an unmistakable almost gloating smirk as Uvani's gloved hands clenched violently on their arm rests, threatening to break them off and lunge at Lachance with them. A thoroughly satisfied Lucien was already turning back his attention to the quiet High Elf before him, his gaze becoming again more warm and kindly when it fell upon her and her alone.

"In any case however, my dear... although I do not agree with the tone, nor the manner or consistent lapses and unmerited blunderings into topics of irrelevancy that our perhaps less then secure in himself brother so often displays...", Lucien began again after a pause, casting another gentlemanly sideways glance and faint smile to acknowledge the livid Dark Elf. Arquen's hesitant features were caught as if in the blinding of lights as Lucien held her with his tender hazel eyes, holding her in place. "He raises at least a small point with the general purpose of his interruption. I needn't lecture you, as I do have to do so with him, of course. You can tell us anything you _need_ to say... we are _all _here now as you wished, and this thing you are holding cannot be dealt with until the burden has been released, so we might all carry it as one. What is it Shaleez told you, dearest sister?"

Knowing that there was no longer any way to put it off... that they each awaited her raptly... that there was truly no more reason not to say what she had to... Arquen released a nearly shaky breath, and she nodded, mustering up every bit of strength within herself. She had spoken a great many painful words to the ones she loved over the years... yet now she froze in a way she had never before. She feared not disappointing the Mother or Father so much as she feared disappointing him... and this realization in it's self unsettled her. He, who had been her affectionate lover, who listened, truly listened to not only her words, but the unspoken most innermost thoughts, taking them into himself, savouring them as if savouring a beautiful painting, and returning his own to her. He, who granted her the physical pain she thrived upon whenever beckoned to do so, while simultaneously lifting the mental weight and pain that at times was more then excruciating. In the end, it was both a blessing and a curse to be the one to utter the words she had to to him... yet she went through with it. For all the difficulty in speaking so few words as these, she nevertheless spoke them, addressing him, the other Speakers and the Listener himself seemingly fading into the hazy background of her perceptions, with he alone, his figure, standing centre-most in all his dark beauty, as he did in all things relative to her heart.

"Shaleez and Blanchard discovered something, prior to their rendezvous with the Traitor", Arquen continued more steadily, her voice reaching them all, even though it was reserved exclusively for him. Her hands stopped playing with one another, and joined together in her lap tightly. For a moment, it looked as though tears would come to her eyes and sting them with their intrusive presence, yet through sheer effort, she held them back.

"They reached a breakthrough in their investigations... discovering the general area that the Traitor's activity's have been linked to from the start of this... yet upon hearing word from their so called _source_ within the Brotherhood, that this individual knew the true identity of the one behind all this, in the hopes that a desperate _resolution_ would _not_ be required, our Silencers went to this source in the first place. The Traitor is not linked to Skingrad nor it's Sanctuary. Lucien... the Traitor has been connected to the city of Cheydinhal... and the proof our Silencers gathered of such, I have gone over and over continually, hoping against all hope that it was wrong. It isn't. This whole thing started with Maria's disappearance, and nearly immediately afterwards with the disappearances of two of my own family members in Chorrol. It has been staring us in the face from the beginning... we've overlooked it in our attempts to delve into this Traitor's mind and see as they might see things. To cover their tracks from the beginning, this Traitor has been extending it's hand to the other Sanctuary's, and not taking any further occupants from the Cheydinhal Family, lest the area of investigation be narrowed back down upon them. The Burnings... none of them have occurred either in Cheydinhal or it's surrounding area. Cheydinhal is the focal point. I cannot say with an absolute one hundred percent certainty that this Traitor is truly within the Sanctuary at _this _time, but the link is obvious enough... and it's implications more so."

Arquen swallowed at the painful throbbing beginning to form within her throat.

"I am sorry, Lucien...".

Helplessly, she took his hands into her own, beseeching his understanding, and Lucien merely peered back down at their interwoven fingers quite expressionlessly, turning them over and examining them as if they were a curio of sorts, before raising his gaze up over her shoulder, to the wall, and he said nothing. Ungolim, behind him, stood stock still, a horrified, pained expression overtaking him, while J'Ghasta looked as though he had taken a heavy blow to the stomach, closing his eyes tightly, jaw constricting. The weight of her words reached even Uvani, his scowl and lividity from mere moments prior evaporating like the relinquishing of obstructive tendril-like coils, and while he watched the Brother who had just reprimanded him, he too was numbed by the devastation the announcement entailed, his features rendered carefully blank, so very much like Lucien's. He leaned slowly backwards in his chair, and be it consciously or unconsciously, again leaned tiredly against his clenched fist. The silence remained far longer then any preceding it, Arquen delicately stroking Lucien's hands, now staring back down to her lap painfully, eyes closed.

At last, Lucien withdrew gently from her touch, stepping backwards, and not truly facing any of them, the revealing words sending him reeling into the depths of his own racing mind. His dark eyes eventually left the wall and studied each of his fellow Speakers, betraying nothing, then he looked to the Listener, who sighed quietly to himself, and moved from the centre of the room, joining Uvani close to the fire. He leaned against the cracked mantle with one hand, staring into the flickering depths and glowing embers of the ungovernable constant of nature, and in that instant, the one who looked the youngest of them all, seemed a thousand years older then they. On the wall opposite the Listener, Lucien's focus caught one of the embroidered banners of their Black Hand, and he went over to it silently, taking one of it's corners into his hand, and studied the scarlet and black banner, his back, like Ungolim's, upon the others. Ungolim, as leader, was the first to speak, not turning back around to face them when he did so quite calmly.

"Thank you, Arquen, for granting us your knowledge... yet, I must hear it again... I _must _know, however, beyond a reasonable doubt before we proceed with this train of thought: the Silencers were not able to acquire the specific identity of this individual? This murderous traitor without the confines of a mask?"

"_No_", Arquen repeated within a moment, not having to think about it, her hand moving to her forehead and rubbing it painfully. "If they had, the Traitor would be dead already, and our troubles over. I have the feeling that our troubles are the furthest thing from being over."

"Indeed so, it seems. We are all thinking the exact same thing here, so I shall be the one to voice it", The Listener quietly conceded, his lips thinning almost apprehensively, the firelight dancing in his nearly blank eyes. "We stand at the edge of an abyss, and our actions here on this night might determine the course of the Brotherhood... regardless of how drastic... yet necessary, those actions may prove to be. The Five Tenets, important as they are in our day to day affairs... in unifying us as they have, now interfere with the purity and integrity of our organization, of our Family's, the traitor hiding safely within these laws, and as such, they must be suspended at this time. We must prove to our Mother and Father that we are willing to make the ultimate sacrifices, that of loved ones, to ensure our continued survival through the passing of ages."

His guilty eyes had flickered quickly away to the fire and to Lucien's back, but lowered again with the same speed, avoiding him. Lucien continued to turn the corner of the banner of the Black Hand in his own, aware of the eyes watching him, and not truly seeing or feeling the material he touched.

"The Purification has not been performed in _century's_", J'Ghasta spoke up intently after a time, thinking more to himself aloud then openly addressing the entire room. He leaned forward, focusing his eyes onto the ticking of the clock as though enraptured by it's innermost workings. "And even then, _twice_ only. If we do this, if we exercise the full might of our power that Black Hand's preceding ours have performed, it must be done without any mistakes, and it _must _be carried out at once. The longer we wait, the more likely this infection might spread to the other Sanctuary's. Suppose this traitor is not truly working alone? Suppose they have diseased other brothers and sisters to follow their way of thinking, just as Greywyn himself did? This information must be acted upon with all due haste... and we must hope this spread has not yet occurred".

"Yes", Ungolim replied calmly, at last turning away from the fireplace and folding his hands behind his back, studying the other four, his words directed mainly to the indeterminable Lucien. "That is the grim truth. Yet never forget, the ones we sacrifice will become an offering to our Dread Father, a show of our eternal fealty, and will be accepted graciously into the Void. While many of their deaths will be premature... and perhaps all of them not guilty of this monstrosity, they will not only continue to serve the Father, but become legend amongst our family's. A lesson, and one that will not be forgotten. I can issue this order to you all right now, this decree, and it will become law, regardless of what you feel, say or think about it... but I have never done that, and I never shall. I am _not_ a calculating dictator... for I did not reach this position with a clenched fist, but the open heart of a brother. I must _hear all _your voices joined with mine in cooperation... in assent... the cooperation of this particular family, we five. I would now ask that we of the Black Hand-

"Before you proceed any further in your Judgement, Ungolim", Lucien's Lachance's deathly calm and collected voice began again respectfully, and at this, he turned, as expressionless as before, yet intent in his manner, freezing the Listener mid sentence. His eyes, veiled by the shadows of his obstructive hood, focused upon the Listener and the Listener alone, but not with the resentment he had prior displayed nor any kind of cold anger, but of gentle request. "I would ask that my voice be heard independently for a moment, so I might address this issue as Speaker of the family in question. You see, while I know my family will be shredded to pieces regardless of my words here... I also know indefinitely that not one of them is capable of treachery. _Regardless_, there are two exceptions that might be made amongst the Family of Cheydinhal, two individuals who might be spared the Wrath of Sithis, and can still perform their duty on the Nirn as mortals, and they must be taken into consideration before the Final Judgement of the Black Hand is performed. I would be grateful if you granted me this right... this favour even, to bring this information forward".

Shadowed curiosity circulated about the room, save Arquen, who believed she knew already what Lucien was to say, and was proven right.

"I grant you your right immediately and without hesitance, my brother", Ungolim answered the request at once, moving slowly away from the fire and to the centre of the room, between the opposing pairs of chairs that had been drawn to it. Lucien did not return this action with his own movement, and remained close to the scarlet banner. "Anything you have to say will be heard, considered, and a conclusion will be reached upon it. Please tell us what you have in mind."

"Thank you, my Listener", Lucien said gratefully bowing his head, his gaze flickering briefly to Arquen, Arquen who watched him with that same rare sense of helplessness, a look that very nearly broke his heart. "The first of these exceptions I wish made, is a dear young child of my Family, Antoinetta Marie, who has been with us for no more then a few months, having arrived _after _these murders began. She has demonstrated a breathtaking devotion not only to I and my word, but to the Five Tenets, to our Parents, and to her family... an unyielding yet not unthinking fanaticism that I'm sure each of you have glimpsed amongst the youthful... even the not so youthful. Her heart is deliciously dark, and in it lies a loyalty that should be noted and held to great regard, like the loyalty's of my other family members. Recently she has ascended to the rank of Slayer, and has been henceforth cutting a cruel path through her contracts. I would humbly request of you that she be spared the Judgement of the Black Hand."

Ungolim had listened to and felt every word, and with each, became all the more visibly uncomfortable, particularly when all eyes fell unto him, awaiting his answer. The outcome of Antoinetta's fate Lucien already glimpsed in his hesitant, ashamed manner. Ungolim didn't need to strain to recall the girl's name, for he had never forgotten a single one of them he had passed along to his Speakers through endless letters.

"I do not doubt that this child, Antoinetta Marie, is worthy in every regard to be in the Dark Family... for not only was it the Night Mother who whispered of her to me, but it is _your _voice vouching for her innocence.", Ungolim began delicately, only barely managing to keep his eyes trained upon Lucien as he spoke, hating himself even as he did so. "I wish there were another way, Lucien... but there is _not_. She arrived after the beginning of these murders, yes, but most of them have occurred since her arrival. There has... been more then adequate time for her to have performed some of these... her guilt is not assured, not by any means at all... but neither is her innocence. I apologize to you profusely... but she _cannot_ be made an _exception _to the _rule_."

"I see", Lucien answered almost silkily, the shame in Ungolim's eyes multiplying at this expected subdued reaction, and at last, he did look away from the ever calm Lucien. Arquen closed her eyes painfully, and shook her head. J'Ghasta's gaze was entirely sympathetic, but deferred to the Listener's Judgement, while Uvani had taken on a rare calm as he watched the events unfolding around him. The atmosphere had scarcely changed from it's frigidness as they weighed the balance of life and death as often as they did. "I know your answer to be final... so I shall not argue my point in regards to her further."

Ungolim was going to apologize further, but Lucien was already moving on to the second point he wished to bring forward, and as he did, the Listener tiredly retook his seat down at J'Ghasta's side, lowering his head forward as if in prayer.

"The second individual I wish to bring forward for the consideration of this Black Hand...", Lucien started, slowly moving forward as he spoke. He too, with reluctance, took his own vacated seat, opposite the Listener, as well, Arquen lowering her hand encouragingly to his wrist as he settled into the seat, again touching it soothingly. "...is the latest member of the Cheydinhal Family, having arrived not too long before Blanchard's murder. This Eliminator, I believe to be a full fledged Assassin by now, is perhaps the finest of murderers to bless our Dark Family's in a many years. In little to no time at all, the Assassin has hurtled with ease every challenge thrown forward as though they were scarcely obsticals, from the murder of a simple old man who so unwisely chose to defile and murder a man's family, to the infiltration of the Imperial Sewers themselves, to the murder of five party goers in a single night while simultaneously spreading over them the suffocation that is terror. Like Antoinetta, the Assassin revel's in despair and suffering... yet unlike Antoinetta, given the time of the Assassin's arrival, I believe this individual exempt from this... _rule_, as you would put it."

Ungolim had risen his head slowly, something stirring within his being at the mention of this individual his words had brought to them, and again, about the room the interest was evident. J'Ghasta in particular seemed the most intrigued.

"This Assassin you speak of, Lucien... unless I am mistaken, and I do not believe I am, were they not the one who has just rid us of the headache that _was _Adamus Philida?", The Khajiit enquired of his Imperial Brother, his gloved hands folding together as he peered over top them, and at this a shadow of a dark smile of admiration passed over each of their expressions, save Arquen, withdrawn and sorrowful, and Uvani, distant and contemplative. "I was beginning to believe I would have to take care of him myself..."

"You are far from mistaken", Lucien confirmed, the flicker of pleasure vanishing as quickly as it had come, becoming as calm and expressionless as before in spite of the thoughts seeking to overtake him. "In any event... I believe this individual to have a great potential, and I submit to you, again, my request of mercy, Ungolim."

This time around, Ungolim did not require so much time to consider it, himself already aware of, and visibly impressed with the Assassin's numerous accomplishments to that point in time. He pursed his lips together as he went into thought... and after a brief interlude, withdrew from it with a quiet release of breath, and he sat upright in his seat, adjusting his robes and addressed them all as one.

"His point in regards to the time of the Assassin's arrival cannot be denied... as such, I defer to Lucien's judgement on that particular matter.", Ungolim spoke quietly, unable to hide the grimness within. From his seat, he again focused his eyes upon the fire, a welcome distraction, yet one that did not take away the onset of the few vague faces he knew he was condemning to die. "Yet... the girl, Antoinetta, as well as the remainder of the Cheydinhal Family, Vicente Valteri, Ocheeva, Teinaava, Mraaj Dar, Telaendril and Gogron Gro Bolmog, must be sacrificed for the appeasement of Sithis to commence. With hope, this will be the only necessary action on our part... with hope, it will be enough. Therefore, in spite of the weight, I ask my Speakers for their individual consent with the commencement of the Purification... J'Ghasta... what is your judgement?"

With the barest of glances to the seemingly vacant Lucien, J'Ghasta met his shadowy eyes with a glimmer of apology, and refocused upon the Listener and his enquiry

"I agree", The Khajiit spoke his piece simply, falling back into silence at once.

"Ulval Uvani?"

"Yes", The expressionless Dunmer spoke his part without hesitation or regret, meeting Lucien's eyes and scrutinizing the Imperial, not looking aside after as J'Ghasta had.

"Arquen?"

Her hand tightened at once upon Lucien's wrist upon hearing her own name, and the task she too had to carry out. She turned to the thoroughly quiet Lucien, but he would not meet her eyes, the pain and conflicting within her heart scalding her that much more painfully. She hesitated for a brief time, but the ugly, necessary words found their way to her tongue, having already managed to bring the information to them that had started this Judgement to begin with.

"I... agree, yet-", Arquen started slowly, pausing herself abruptly for a moment, and Ungolim watched her patiently. She nodded a single time, satisfying him, and now, in her shame, she could not find it in herself to look again over to her Imperial companion, lest his gaze had moved back to her.. "... I agree".

Silence returned, and now it took Ungolim a greater effort then before to address the final Speaker who watched him wordlessly. Ungolim drew breath, motioning to the Imperial respectfully.

"Lucien... what say you? Will you accept the weight of the burden that lays before you?"

There was not the tiniest of pauses in the reply of Lucien, the one who had before accepted great burdens, even when they had not been such as this one. His mind, for all the turmoil of conflicting thoughts and feelings within, was as honed and resolved as it ever was, his voice a deadly, carrying whisper that alone seemed able to pierce flesh.

"I _serve_ the Night Mother, Ungolim... I _serve_ Sithis, as I always have and always _shall_.", Lucien answered his Listener and the silence, and for but a moment, each of them seemed to feel in their depths the appeasement of their Dread Father overtaking the atmosphere of the basement as the words were uttered. Ungolim breathed with clear satisfaction, and nodded.

"Thank you, Lucien... if you need anything at all... anything you might require for this-

"_No_", Lucien's low voice interceded a touch firmly, leaning back further in his seat, his expression seeming to mull over what he had been considering, only now able to form it into clearer words. "None of your help should be required, I think... I daresay you will all have your hands full as it is. I will see to this Purification on my own. I have already an idea for how to go about it's commencement. The task of destroying the Cheydinhal Family shall be delegated to the Assassin... a final test of faith, if you will. If the Assassin is successful, as I believe they shall be, then I will have found another Silencer, and the Black Hand it's newest member. Should the Assassin fail and pay the price... well, I will clean up the remainder of the mess left behind and ensure the Purification is completed, that Sithis is truly appeased, and their souls rewarded with the eternal Void at His side. Regardless of the outcome, I will personally bury my Family in the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, in _our _Home... where their love lies..."

With this final chilling sentiment that was no longer capable of stunning any of them with the demonstration of such terrible and powerful pragmatism, Lucien withdrew from the meeting of the Black Hand and into himself as it at last came to a close, and he spoke no further in Bravil to the others of the Hand. Arquen maintained her tender, soothing touch upon his wrist, yet still he did not return it. Ungolim too was silent for several minutes, allowing them all to contemplate what had just transpired, before, clearing his throat, he concluded the meeting quietly, looking to each of them briefly.

"Perhaps, even in this tragedy, there will be at least some hope in this Assassin blessing us by ascending to the Black Hand, should the Purification be successful without Lucien's direct hand in it, of course. If there is nothing further any of you wish to add... may the Night Mother watch over us all. This gathering of the Black Hand is concluded".

Ungolim paused again for quite some time, visibly considering something very deeply, and Uvani had withdrawn from his contemplation, and cast a speculative gaze at each of them centred about the basement, himself remaining silent. J'Ghasta continued to watch the expressionless Lucien as sympathetically as before, eventually turning away, while Arquen seemed to be gradually recovering herself again. At last Ungolim clasped his hands together and returned to them, his expression now rather hopeful, yet also cautiously so.

"I know this is a grim time to even begin proposing the suggestion... and I am loath to make it, but know I do not do so in an attempt to divert or change the topic weighted upon each of our minds. You have all come such a long way here for this meeting, and have been dealing with enormous strains to begin with. It has been a long time since last we were all together like this... and I was wondering if you would all like to stay for but a little longer before setting out, and join me in a drink... you know, for... for the sake of old times passed?".

Not even his cautiousness, careful hesitance, and diplomatic way of approaching the subject was enough to go particularly well over with one of them, and at last this one spoke again.

"_Forget it_! Are you _insane_?", hissed Uvani, rising to his feet at once as his chair creaked, the seething anger and bitterness returning to his lined features and twisting them as if into a harsh unforgiving mask. Now he peered towards the startled, apprehensive Ungolim with something very much like disgust or approaching it. The Dark Elf moved away from the fireplace, preparing to leave them, yet stopping near J'Ghasta's chair before starting for the ladder and making his departure. His head alone turned, and his penetrating scowl only intensified as he held Ungolim rooted to the spot, and let him have it.

"You expect _me_ to sit here and drink with you while I have as much to do as I do? You must be drunk off your ass already if you think I will, or that even an ounce of me wants to. Our brethren are out there dying in the droves as we speak, and you want us all to sit down like a group of old friends and reminisce drunkenly while a Traitor runs amok, and a _Purification_ looms? I don't know about the others here, but by Sithis I will be apart of no such _damn_ thing! As you put it, I did come a long way to get here, and it's going to take just as bloody long to get right back! _Longer_! Every moment I waste here telling you about your idiocy and the idiocy of your foolish idea is another I could be getting your never ending list of tasks completed, goals you bury me beneath and now tell me to put off for _your_ sake and not my own family's! Now I have this Traitor problem to deal with, I have a Silencer whose schedule is as long as my own, and to top it off I have to go track him down and warn him about this grisly business! Forgive my disinterest in your idea for a little get together, but there is far too much to do! The Night Mother and our Father will not look upon us too proudly if they watch us all here getting liquored up and having a grand old time instead of going out and performing said tasks! We are the Black Hand, Ungolim, let's act like it! Good evening to you all, and as a friendly word of warning, do _not _bother me again unless it is as important as this meeting, and if it is in regards to the Traitor, our actions against them, and even then, let it be through letter and not randomly popping up in the middle of the night at my home!"

"Uvani...-", Ungolim started with a trace of shame with himself for having incited his brothers livid anger, holding up a hand weakly in an attempt to belay this anger. The Dunmer Speaker would have none of it, and was already turning away from his Listener. "Ulval... you have mistaken my meaning... don't go away mad, _please_, I merely-

"I said good evening, _Listener_!", Uvani all but spat back with malice, straightening his robes unconsciously and making for the ladder. By the time he reached it, Ungolim's tiny hand had lowered helplessly back to his side, and the Listener averted his eyes, preparing to ask the other gathered Speakers and hoping for different reactions.

Before ascending the ladder, unseen to all save Lucien who alone watched his brother's departure calmly, Uvani paused in his tracks slowly, and turned back, his furrowed eyes reaching not Ungolim or any of the others, but the Imperial Speaker. Something seemed to loosen in his angered depths for but a split second, the sour look partially dissipating, and he blinked, before inclining his head almost imperceptibly to Lucien respectfully, acknowledging the great burden Lucien now held in his hands. The Imperial inclined his own hooded head gratefully, yet did so as expressionlessly as ever, and the moment he had done so, Ulval Uvani's usual bitter features took hold once more like a possession flitting into him, scowling roughly, as if in penance for the rare show of the sincere care and respect he truly held for his brother, and a brother who had only earlier humiliated him before the others, no less. Uvani turned again swiftly, and speedily climbed up the ladder out of sight. They all listened to the livid mutterings and rantings under his breath as his footfalls stormed across the domain of the house, reaching the front door, the locks and bolts sliding back and the door creaking on it's hinges, before he slammed it shut behind him, and he was gone.

Ungolim managed to recover himself quickly, deeply embarrassed and ashamed, and he turned his attention to J'Ghasta, who was now so deep into contemplation he barely seemed aware of himself being addressed. Something rang true in Uvani's words, and had gripped unpleasantly at the insides of the Khajiit, and now he too was less then keen on staying any longer then he had to with the situation hanging over them as it did, his own beloved family at as much risk as any of the others.

"I... never mind Ulval... he will come around... _J'Ghasta_, what about you? You've not passed up any of my offers to stay for a drink before, you wouldn't want to go and break an old Black Hand tradition!", Ungolim began again more hopefully, a desperate smile breaking out across his youthful face, one that seemed far more anxious and tepid then it was genuine, grinning painfully. He was already making his way over to the drink cabinet, and had produced a pair of wine bottles with forced exuberance, seemingly assured of the answer before it had even been delivered. J'Ghasta uncomfortably looked at his hands as the Wood Elf, his eventual predecessor, hummed to himself from across the room, then raised his head, seeking out and meeting Arquen's distant eyes, understanding in regards to the pained Listener passing between the brother and sister, and they looked away from one another hurriedly. Closing the cabinet up behind him, Ungolim strode quickly with renewed vigour across the basement with the large bottles, four glasses cradled carefully under his arm and drew up one of the smaller tables situated about the basement, clearing it off in preparation, still smiling to his Khajiit brother as he pulled it to the middle of the room. "You're a boxer, so why not become a _drunken _one for a little while?"

At this quip, Ungolim laughed delightedly, setting the glasses upon the table carefully, and by now, J'Ghasta knew he had to make his departure at once, and not drag out the Listener's misery even further.

"I apologize deeply, my dearest brother, I _wish_ I _could _stay... but I too should be on my way now", The Khajiit murmured regretfully, truly meaning it as he, like Uvani, rose to his feet, the smile shattering from the Wood Elf as if one of the glasses had dropped off the table. Unlike Uvani, however, who had lingered merely to vent his fury, J'Ghasta lingered to explain himself more gently then the Night Elf had, hoping it would be enough, that he would understand. "I must return to Bruma, continue in my own tasks and make particular arrangements. I would also like to see my _family_ again... _very, very_ much so. This situation has me realizing... that I have been behaving unfairly. That I have not been giving them the attention they require, deserve, merely delegating my Mistress to doing such things, spending a great deal of my time training, just as I did not pay proper attention to Arquen or Lucien's suspicions. Should the Purification not be the end of this infection... not the end of this treachery and wide spread murder, I want to try and be prepared for anything... and I want to be able to say everything I must to them while I know I _still can_... you understand, I am sure".

"_Oh_... I just... yes! Yes of course J'Ghasta!", Ungolim again forced himself to recover after a long pained interval of silence, shrugging his shoulders in a false nonchalant fashion, his eyes betraying the truth behind his apparent understanding, and the Khajiit's gaze flickered down to his own feet for a moment. "I daresay it's... quite _important_, to spend time with the _ones you love_, to... to not take everything for granted, so please, by all means... perhaps... perhaps we can do this another time then?"

"_Yes_, dearest Listener", J'Ghasta reassured him gently, knowing his words would not be enough to make him content, but helpless to change his Listener's fears and sorrows. "When I have my arrangements settled, I will find the time in my schedule to drop by for a lengthier visit."

"Oh, very well then... not a problem", The fractured Wood Elf laughed in turn, forcing again that grim parody of a smile that pained J'Ghasta... but the Khajiit maintained his resolve in he matter. Not with ease, however... far from it. "Go on then, and wish your family well for me, alright?"

"I _shall_, Listener", Jghasta nodded respectfully, and forced himself to look away again, this time to the two still seated Speakers, each of whom watched him. Shame flitted over the Khajiit's insides as the paling High Elf and the foreboding eyes of the Imperial met his, and he stood to his fullest height unconsciously. "Arquen, Lucien, again, you have my sympathies... and my sincerest apologies. If there is anything, anything at all I can do to help, just let me know, and I'll be there."

"We _shall_, thank you, J'Ghasta... and travel safely", Arquen murmured on their behalf, when Lucien merely inclined his head in the manner he had Uvani. This accepted action of repentance was enough to abate J'Ghasta's guilt and shame... but only by the smallest degree, and again, he nodded to each of them, and to his Listener.

"Good evening to you all then, and travel safely in your endeavours under the loving gaze of Sithis", J'Ghasta addressed them all kindly, and with those final words, made his own departure after Uvani. He crossed over the basement, and for the briefest of moments it looked as though he would freeze in his tracks the way the Dark Elf had... but managed to overcome the innermost urge, his heart overtaken with concern for the well being of the Bruma Family, and he too departed at once from the recesses of the basement, and then the small home above and out into the streets of Bravil, his own footfalls fading away from existence.

"Well then!", Ungolim began again as though nothing had just occurred, his tone almost jovial as the silent Imperial and pained Altmer turned to him. He smiled again with clearly increasing difficulty, his lips very nearly quivering. "I suppose that just leaves more for us... how about it you two? You each prefer Mead, unless I'm mistaken, eh Lachance?"

Arquen turned slowly to meet the silent gaze of her lover, and knew at once they shared the same prospect of remaining behind with such prevalent affairs threatening the Brotherhood, as it had been with the other two Fingers. Taking a breath, she turned back to Ungolim, her unwell features taking on a gently sympathetic look, something almost motherly and pitying together, and from the instant falling of the Listener's desperate features, she knew he understood what she was to say already, nevertheless, she said them on each of their behalf.

"We will have to take a rain check, Ungolim... I'm sorry, I've missed our gatherings very much as well, but there is just too much occurring at the moment to relax, to celebrate anything... and even if I could stay, I'm afraid I have not been feeling very well lately. I'd rather not bring down a get together with my health, or risk worsening it."

Ungolim looked visibly stricken, as if she had brought her powerful clenched hand across his face, instead of peering back at him rather sympathetically as she was in spite of her exhaustion. His miserable voice was contorted and anxious as his now drooping features. Lucien was already rising to his feet now, and preparing to take his own leave, perhaps with or without Arquen, and the Listener's eyes widened further as the tall Imperial stood before him again.

"I... _yes_... I knew it probably wouldn't go over well with you all... the deaths... the Burnings... it's just... _seeing _you all again... your visiting me as one... I just... I _wanted_ things to go back... I wanted... needed... I never meant to... to drag my feet on this issue, as I-I did... you understand me, don't you? You both understand? _Don't you_?".

"_Yes_", Arquen answered the saddened, imploring Wood Elf softly, herself standing now at Lucien's side. She spoke slowly, soothingly, as though comforting a child who had injured himself. While Lucien was as expressionless and absent as ever from the exchange, and Arquen was not certain he agreed with her, she attempted to allay her Listener's fears, in spite of her own swelling turmoil and pain. "We _do_, Ungolim. We know what you have been going through out here... things as of late have not been kind... for _any_ of us... simply in different ways. Isolation has been slowly, but surely affecting you... I know. We have to be going now, but J'Ghasta speaks the truth, we _will _see one another again soon enough, when this matter has been properly dealt with... ok, my Listener?"

"Yes", Ungolim answered shakily, running a gloved hand through his thick hair beneath the hood, his eyes darting worriedly as Lucien passed by and made for the ladder, Arquen slowly following, still facing the Listener as they rounded the table. He instinctively grabbed one of the wine bottles from the deserted table for something to redirect his focus upon, and he too followed after them. "I... let me walk you both to the door, it's not proper manners of a house owner to not do so of his guests!".

Sure enough, he ascended the ladder after them, following them through the house to the front door, attempting and failing to engage Lucien in conversation, Arquen alone listening to his hurried words and suggestions for the next get together of the Black Hand as they reached the unlocked front door.

"- Uvani will be the most difficult to convince to visit, I'm sure, but if I lower his work schedule gradually, once this thing has been dealt with... I'm certain he'll come around... heh, you know how much he used to enjoy a good drink, the old days, when we'd all go out, find a random stranger's home, and-

Lucien opened the front door, holding it for Arquen, who in turn held it for the Listener, and the Imperial moved down over the front stoop, stepping into the muddy and mist enveloped streets below, his booted feet squishing silently into the deep muck. The warm, dank heat of the city returned to each of them, and Arquen hung back on the front step for a moment or two longer as Lucien started to leave them. J'Ghasta and Uvani were long gone by now, and no shadows, save that of Lucien's stirred in the fog. Ungolim, bottle still in his clenched hand, peered desperately between the High Elf in front of him, and the retreating figure of Lucien, who she clearly sought to follow, while simultaneously acknowledging her Listener, attempting to help him as much as she could under the circumstances.

"Good luck, Ungolim, keep in contact, as ever, and try not to remain locked up in this place, courting despair. Visit the Bravil Sanctuary more often... they love you just as much as we do."

"Yes... I know... it's just... they aren't...-", Ungolim listened to her suggestion, glad for her effort, but still uncertain... it was more evident then ever he wanted things to return to the way they were... that even the love of Bravil's Family was not enough to sustain him... but Arquen could help him no further then this, glancing back over her shoulder to Lucien's departing form, and now she stepped backwards of the front stoop, her gaze genuinely apologetic. "_Ok_... thank you, Arquen... I will try...".

"Good Evening then, my Listener", She replied shortly, distractedly, yet attempting to infuse the proper care into each word. At last she revolved around entirely and quickened her naturally long legged stride, moving after her fellow Speaker hurriedly and unknown to her, leaving the forlorn Listener standing alone upon the front porch for quite some time.

Ungolim watched absently as Arquen caught up with Lachance, yet not moving to his side, following closely in his wake, and together, their robed, hooded silhouettes faded as one into the swirling, ethereal mist. A warming rush of the evening's wind passed across Uvani, sweltering him, beads of sweat gradually forming upon his spine and the back of his neck the longer he remained outside, only increased by the warming enchantments in the robes he wore, and he lowered his head slowly to the meaningless bottle his gloved hand clutched anxiously as the minutes passed.

"It's just... they aren't _you_. _Any_one of you", The pained Listener of the Dark Brotherhood finally finished his train of thought quietly to himself, distantly in both manner and mind. "Good evening... yes indeed..."

He rose his head at last, and looked to the open door behind him, already dreading having to return through it... knowing he had to and that nothing could prevent him from having to do so. The walls of that basement he worked in alone had become like the walls of an asylum... the entire room slowly closing in on him, the banners seemingly having disappeared and replaced by a blankness, and with each passing day he was buried beneath more parchment and books, tasks and stresses, no longer able to count upon the Black Hand he loved to provide him with the excitement and thrill of the old times... trapped in the sole company of the Mother he loved, a child not allowed to go outside and play with all the others. There was an emptiness to it all... a void in the pit of his soul, that nothing attainable could fill. The Bravil Sanctuary was not enough... it was not truly his Family, as much as he cared for them. _His _family had just left him standing alone as he nearly always was now... the pain and agony of his isolation digging like iron claws into his constricting heart, and he did not want to return to his home... but time and duty were so burrowed into him, that he forced himself to do so, still clutching the bottle to his chest, and closing the door behind him, with it's numerous locks, and sealing himself within it's depressing, cruel confines... confines that he already looked forward to lifting, the reigns of his duty being handed off to J'Ghasta, even if it meant his death... his release from the hell he had shackled himself to.

He hated himself, hated himself for feeling that way, hating himself in every regard imaginable, knowing he was disappointing the Mother... and hated himself for having not the willpower and resolve to not ask his old friends for a drink he knew they would not share in. They furthered his isolation, regardless of it being unintentional... the one's he cared about not even any longer capable, or perhaps in his private thoughts he sometimes wondered, willing, of inviting him out into the world they had shared once together. He didn't blame them, not one of them... for Uvani's disgust at the haste of his suggestion was shared too by Ungolim, disgust in himself. He prayed that Sithis and the Night Mother would understand his pain, would show him a great mercy, understand why he was failing them... he would redouble his efforts... his efforts to remain sane and active within the Brotherhood... but then, that was what he was always doing... and the pain, the weight of his isolation, invariably returned, more powerful and strenuous then ever before. Running on willpower was no way to live a life... existing solely to direct the actions of those he loved, rather then joining them as they went about said actions... playing the role of puppet master. Now that pain, he knew so well, had leaked into his ability to perform his duty, slowing Lucien and Arquen from performing their own duties to the Dark Family, each of them who had perhaps never succumb to inner torment as he gradually was... his grip upon reality and the world at large slipping, their resiliency like something entirely unimaginable.

That Lucien could shoulder the weight of exterminating his own Cheydinhal Family without their help... was not surprising... for in many regards, he long overshadowed Ungolim. Not only Uvani's words rang true, but Lucien's particularly drove the consensus of the four Speaker's home. He was their Listener, and this past year, he had no been behaving as such. His passion was being sapped away with each passing day as though it were the passing of seasons... and there were times, down in that basement, as he scrawled his unceasing letters to them, delegating their tasks and feeling nothing truly _worth _feeling, that he wondered just how much longer he could survive in this state of existence. Wandering through the same routine day in and day out. Where he wondered how he had even managed to last a single day... days that seemed to grow longer and more painful, every tick forward of the echoing clock pounding in his head seemingly followed by two ticks backwards. Yet, he would continue, he would continue to serve the Mother and Father, for whom his love had never waned as his energy was... continue to serve the Mother who would not give them the means of finding the Traitor, who was, as Lucien had put it, leaving her children to prove themselves worthy. Taking a deep steadying breath, as if forcing himself to draw from an untapped source energy and foregoing the agony pouring through the cracks in his soul, he straightened out his ruffled robes, crossed the threshold of his home, and made his way back to the basement, preparing himself for what was to be another sleepless night.

* * *

><p>Arquen found it surprisingly difficult to match his pace, soon discovering that not even her long legs were capable enough to do so, drifting over the cobblestone road through the fog. Within moments, it became clear to her that he was not leading her to the gates of the city, bound for the stables and then the road, as their fellow Speakers would have already done, but deeper into the the heart of the misty city of Bravil. In spite of their departure from the meeting, he still did not open his mouth to speak... and while the urge to do so herself came to her several times as they walked further on, she forced herself not to, knowing the time to do so would present it's self inevitably. They passed the rows of run down, interconnected houses and shops, miraculously meeting no guards on their way, and immediately, Arquen knew what Lucien had on his mind, the destination he was bound for before they were to slip out of the confines of the city.<br>The evening blanket of fog, thick enough to dispel the light from the shimmering moons above, was obstructive to each of them, the wistful desire coming to Arquen that she had brought a torch along, yet for how many times this journey had been made, the course of each step was etched into their respective minds as surely as their Matron's words. He did not slow for even an instant as he made his way forward, and before long, they both had reached it, a spot they respectively had visited many times before, be it together or separate, but never as five. The tall grey marble statue of the Lucky Old Lady standing upon her stone platform, just east of Bravil's towering Chapel beyond Her, loomed before them down the path in the fog, Her icy presence cutting through even the warmth enveloping them each that evening. A great many people visited Her by day, be it travellers, thieves, warriors before a battle or residents, praying upon Her for the luck She kindly provided, if only for a time... and yet only five knew the truth that not the guards, not the Count, not even those who had always lived there knew, the truth of Who lay beneath the city, utilizing the ageing marble figurine as a masterful ventriloquist might a puppet.

Certainly, nothing in it's tender and kindly mannered design could have tipped off the average traveller, as was intended when it had been chosen and constructed by the Black Hand long ago; a tall, kind faced, doting old woman in a long, solid gown, a hand clutching her breast as if feeling the steady heartbeat within, her other extended down lovingly to a trio of tiny naked children, babies, each knelt on a respective pedestal around her, paying reverence to the grand woman before them, their diminutive hands reaching for the hem of her dress, as if pleading to be picked up and cradled. Closer they moved over the street to the statue, the Lucky Old Lady growing taller with each step, and Lucien at last slowed his pace as he neared the platform, Arquen following suit.

As Lucien stepped slowly on to it, Arquen hung back and watched them tentatively, just off the platform, behind him. She knew better then to join him in such a private affair, a consultation with the Mother, and one she knew he needed to make alone... just as she had done the last time she had been in Bravil. The musty wind of the evening continued to swirl around them, and Arquen breathed it in deeply, the wind causing her to blink within the confines of her hood, and then outright close them when it picked up and became stronger. When she opened them again, blinking quickly against the watering forming in each, she watched as Lucien, now standing directly before the Lucky Old Lady, peering up into Her kindly face, reached into one of the deep pockets of his robes, and produced what she thought to be a mere piece of parchment for a moment... until, her heart expanding within her chest, she saw the ends of what it enveloped protectively poking from the end.

The beautiful pedals of two roses appeared to her, the prevalent one a bloody red rose, was visible even in the darkness of the mist, and her eyes parted as he unwrapped the parchment, tucking it away. The long green stem contrasted the bloody shade of the peddles, covered in numerous thorns, as well as the second rose, one a dark as his own robes. Neither had been squished at any point in their journey to the city, rather, it was as though they had just been freshly plucked. Taking the red rose into his right hand, he raised it up to the outstretched hand of the Lucky Old Lady, and enclosed the flower, the tribute, as well as his own hand, into Hers, holding and caressing the stone fingertips tenderly and peering up into those unblinking, gentle eyes. With his other hand, he brought the black rose to the hand clutching her breast, and slipped it's stem through her fingers so she held it to herself.

A strengthening shadow amongst others seemed to stir after a time across his features, Arquen noted... yet not one of grimness, or bitterness at the weight of the looming Purification he was to see through, but a shadow of genuine, loving emotion, the likes of which she had seen him display freely in her own presence, and for a moment, in spite of the midnight hood and robes, and a past and life she was quite familiar with, he truly seemed a youth again more then ever, hardly different from the stone children surrounding the Lady. His gloved hand tightened against Her own one of stone, and several of the jagged thorns sank into and through the material deeply, droplets of his blood dribbling from the holes in the enchanted material and spilling between them, staining Her palm, and his grip loosened, the enchanted material of the robes already resealing the tiny holes in his glove. As she watched on, herself gazing upon the Imperial with every ounce of the love she felt for him, the Father and the Mother, he silently spoke his peace to what any passerby would believe to be the statue alone.

_Sweet Mother... Sweet Mother. I come to You now, as unworthy of Your presence as ever, these roses and my very blood a miniscule offering, an infinitesimal bit of the many thanks You deserve. No task I have ever performed, no individual I have ever killed in Your name and no distance I have travelled in this world has been enough to earn this right... yet You give it to me, You give it to me without a second thought... and I thank You for that._

_Long ago, I accepted that I would never hear Your voice... would never hear the vocalic beauty of Your __unrivalled wisdom first hand, as every Listener has been blessed to hear. I ascended the ranks one by one, and when accepted into the Black Hand as I was, it was as one who dispenses Your word... and no higher did I climb, nor truly want to. It was_ _not that I never wished to be the Listener, never wished to actually hear You, not at all, my Mother... for all do desire that. It was that this position You saw fit_ _to bless me with, was surely and truly enough for me... was perfect for me in every regard, and fitted together with my strengths, my characteristics, and every other part of me like the pieces of an elaborate puzzle. I speak... the Dark Family's listen. Family's you have tasked each of us with uniting, and overseeing, and I think You saw this in me to it's innermost depths as few ever have. I need not hear Your voice to know that You listen to me, as You always have, and watch over me with Your infinite capacity to love all things spawned of Darkness._

_These past months... my brothers, as You have seen, have been dragging their boots with this situation... they have succumbed to ignorance... ignorance I would never before have believed them capable of, perhaps even inner despair, the worst of which being the case of Ungolim, my Listener. I wish it had not necessary to speak to them as I did... to be so very cold to them, those who have been a nearly constant source of happiness, my brethren of the Black Hand... but they made it so no alternative was any longer possible, pushing even my own restraints. I needed to take charge, if only for that instant, and try to set them right again. I understand each of their respective problems, problems that, when brought together, well, no other outcome could possibly have been likely to occur. They outnumbered us. Arquen and I, and our Silencers alone have been making the required effort... but we alone were never enough, it needed to be all Five or equate to none at all, and my own Silencer has paid the price for their shortsightedness, as the other children, the victims of the Brotherhood's Traitor have... and now as the Family I love so very much must as well._

_Mother... You ask this thing of me. You ask this great and terrible thing, a task I have never been given until this very night, a weight greater men and women then I have seen through century's ago, and I meant what I said in that meeting, my eternal pledged loyalty and service to You and the Father... you and the Father above any individual I have brought to us at Your word... or even the one unwavering immortal soul who helped me grow as an individual as he did, passing along the beauty of himself and his knowledge. You ask this thing, this sanitation, and it shall be done... I will perform it with every bit of my skills, and without any hesitation or mercy. All within the Sanctuary shall perish, save the one agreed upon to be spared._

_I love You._

_I have always loved You with everything within myself._

_You gave me everything, Mother... You gave us all that much. You gave me the love of a Family that I needed in my darkest hours, the love and guidance of friends, the High Elf with every bit of her heart of Darkness who watches us now and has followed me in this from the start, a reason to exist, a cause to die for, a duty and the means to perform that duty. I have savoured each and every moment of my time in Your service across the years, be it pleasures or pains, the plethora of memory's and experiences with others I have met, each of these You endowed me with in my travels, travels You yourself made possible, and I will carry them with me to the end and beyond. If anything You have given me is meant to be taken away from me, I would have no other, not this Traitor, not any enemy I have ever made,_ _do such a thing then You, the one you gave me all this._ _You gave me this life, and it is You who can and must take it away whenever such a thing is your wish, and I will not cling greedily to it for my own sake, but for the continued service of you._

_With this Purification... I hope that this Traitor's presence is destroyed... the Brotherhood cleansed and revitalized, I pray for this above all else... I wish no further unnecessary deaths within the Family's as the random murders and Burnings... and yet, I know already that not one of the Cheydinhal Family is guilty of this sin._

_I make to You this confession... if I carry in myself any one fear at this time... it is of what they shall think of me when they reach the Void... I they have loved and trusted, who has in his duty, betrayed them. It makes no difference now, though, and I know this. Regardless of whether this Purification is the end of our test, the end of our troubles, I will remain as vigilant as I ever have been in your name against any threat to the sanctity of Your Family and mine, and I ask that the Dread Father show His great mercy upon my Family, and take this show of fealty, of sacrifice, into His loving arms, just as surely as the Traitor will be cast into a pit of eternal torment and damnation for their wronging of You, their wronging of each of us who walk in His shadow for all time._

_I thank You for Your_ _time... for Your listening, Your understanding of me no other is capable of, and I continue now, as ever, in Your service... I will return again as soon as possible, and bring You a greater tribute then this._

_Good Night, Sweet Mother, and may Your ancient slumber remain unmarred by our mortal inadequacies._

Lucien continued to peer up into Her soothing eyes, enraptured, hand in hand, for quite some time amongst the shifting layers of fog, and knew truly then what Arquen had spoken of some time before, of a rare moment, one capable only in Her presence, where one seemed to think of nothing at all, the burden, although most certainly remaining, seemingly alleviated it's self somewhere in the depths of his mind. The length of that time in which he remained, he could not determine, but gradually, his task settled back into him... and he knew he must leave. His hand retracted slowly, reluctantly, from Her's, the rose remaining intertwined in Her fingers, it's red, bound in his blood, bringing the only colour prevalent amongst her stone form, like that of a severed heart offered to each of her children huddled below her, as surely as she clutched the Black rose gratefully to herself. At last, he drew back from her a single involuntary step, the shadow of emotions fading away into nothingness as the cold expressionlessness overtook his features once more. He turned calmly, peering out from the platform, to the tall, tentative Elf close at hand, and then out into the swirling mist obscuring the dank city of Bravil, and he moved then, off the platform, past Arquen, and continuing on now as his fellow Speakers already had.

Arquen made to follow after him again, her gaze flickering one last time to the Lady and to the offerings, and she bowed her head to the Mother in thanks, curtseying with the hem of her long robe, before again striding after Lucien before he could disappear on his own into the mist, leaving their Sovereign to Her rest.

The hooded Imperial led Arquen closer to the city gates, until the unmistakable sight of lit torches, courtesy of the guards, shone through the fog, and simultaneously, the pair cast an aura of invisibility about themselves, passing the patrols of armoured men chatting to one another. The moment they arrived at one of the gates briefly unmanned, the pair of Speakers passed through them, resealing it behind themselves, and proceeded onwards out of the city, back towards the Green Road. The great trees of the forest beyond the city poked out the top of the mist, towering over them each as they neared. Arquen stopped on their way to the road, entering the stables where she and her Khajiit and Dunmer brothers each had left their steeds, to find her own now very much alone. Lucien did not wait for her, as before, yet the invisibility surrounding him broke when her own had, and he did not move any quicker as he took to the Green Road on foot, passing away from the City. By the time Arquen had led her lovely brown horse from the stables and mounted it, he was some way down the path, his outline only barely visible, and quickly, she spurred her steed, which issued a whinny, and raced down after the Imperial Speaker, catching up with him with ease, and the horse was forced to trot alongside him slowly.

At last, rounding bend after bend in the road, the city of Bravil disappeared into the mist, and Lucien paused for the first time, long only enough to summon Shadowmere unto the Nirn. After mounting his otherworldly steed of Darkness, Lucien sped on up the Green Road for Cheydinhal, and while it soon became all but impossible for her own very much natural horse to keep pace with the opposite one he utilized, she was able to keep him in sight as they travelled at all times. Long into the night they travelled along the countryside, the mist gradually dying down the further they went, past the Lorious River and along the Nibenay Valley... until at last, they reached the coast near the Imperial City, it's incomparable Aeleid architecture dwarfing what had been in Bravil, as it did all other city's. Reaching the coast... they each came upon an intersection in the road, and Arquen eventually slowed, where her silent companion still did not. To the east, the Green Road would continue for a time, taking whoever travelled it towards the Blue Road, and by extension, Cheydinhal... it was this the Imperial took at once while Arquen hung back for a moment, her eyes travelling to the West... to the Gold Road, that would take her on the Chorrol, to her home.

The magnificent Shadowmere passed on down the Green Road, retreating from her eyes, and her desire to see her Family again was overridden by her desire to remain with him, to hear him, perhaps, and hopefully, to comfort him, should he require as much. He had done more then this for her... and her love of him, a single individual, won out over the many others.

Spurring her steed into movement again, she raced after Lucien, galloping along the Green Road, along the Imperial City coast, and towards Cheydinhal. He seemed without looking at her aware of her continued presence far behind him, and gradually he slowed to accommodate her. When they reached at last the next bend to the Blue Road, only a few hours of the night remaining, dawn almost threatened to peak over the horizon, and he at last stopped them, leading them off the pathway, and deep into the forests around the Blue and Green roads. As silently as ever, they made camp, Arquen laying down their separate sleeping rolls and the supplies they had brought out amongst the forest floor as he led their steeds together deeper into the forest, securing their reigns to a tree, yet leaving them enough room to graze together. When he returned, moving past her as she worked, he had gathered up a great bundle of sticks and plants, laying them as one near their bedding's and encircling it with stones, before at last kneeling before it, and laying a gloved hand upon the bundle purposefully. A rush of leaping golden and orange flames encircled his hand, and spread like a liquid out over the wood, and he retracted the hand as the glow of the fire swelled like a beacon over that section of the forest, each of their shadows, like those of the trees, dancing about themselves, and the fire at his fingertips faded... and he followed this magic with a series of protective spells around the perimeter of their camp.

By now, Arquen had just about finished her own task, but watched from the corner of her eye as his shadow moved away from the fire and back towards the bank at the edge of the forest, and finding a fallen, gradually rotting tree, he sat himself upon it, silhouetted in the fire, looking out of the forest, out over the roads and to the coast of the Imperial City beyond, his manner as contemplative as before, betraying nothing through exterior of what he thought or felt. Refocusing upon her task, Arquen finished up, rising to her feet, and casting her eyes to where he resided, slowly pacing away from the roar and warmth of the crackling fire, and joining him out in the cold, settling down upon the fallen trunk at his side, and following his own gaze out over the Imperial City. It occurred to her, as minutes ticked away, that there would be no finer time to break the silence, now that they were encamped, and that he was at last motionless. With difficulty, she thrust out the hesitance threatening to overtake her voice, yet it remained quiet.

"Lucien... I cannot begin to imagine what it is you are feeling now, for even after all this time I have never had to shoulder the burden you do", Arquen admitted to him solemnly, taking again his hand, the one he had pierced for their Mother, into each of hers, caressing it just as leasurly and tenderly as he had the Mothers. At last, his own slowly began to do the same to hers. She watched his contrastingly unresponsive face from the corners of her perception, while simultaneously maintaining her gaze upon the sprawling landscape of Cyrodiil.  
>"But I <em>know<em> pain... we all know it, we know it because it is apart of ourselves, it is what has brought us this far. You and I together have overcome our pain, for the most part, but we carry it's shadow as a reminder of who and what we are, how changed we are. I know that in my most agonized times, you have been here to comfort me, to hear me... and to _love_ me, in the way I _need_ to be loved, in the way I _need_ to _feel_, regardless of the extent of my own ways... you do not judge, nor wrinkle your nose, but you accept and you embrace that which is _not _yourself. I return this to you... and I am here for you, as ever, in the ways you are to me. What is it that you feel? Do you... wish to discuss this?"

"What would have me say, dearest sister?", Lucien's low, collected voice returned at once to her momentary surprise, as if emerging from the chasms of reverie. His dark eyes glittered in the ghostly and crimson light of the moons still spreading out over the calm waters of the coast, around the Imperial Sewers, and it was the rusty entrance to this he watched. "That I _regret_ what I am to do? That it _sickens_ or _disturbs_ me in some way? You know me as well as yourself, Arquen. I am about to destroy the greatest Dark Family I have ever known, one I have loved and united, and while I could not even truly save the youngest child there, for I already knew I could spare but one... ultimately, it does not matter, for it all comes back to the same thing. I am already at peace with it all, and resolved to carry it out to the extent of my ability's in our Parents name. My 'regret' extends only to the necessity of my actions. That it must be brought about by the actions of an interloper. Yet I know what _must_ be done, and it _will _be done.".

"It cannot be that simple, Lucien... you are right, I _do_ know you... and I know what each of them _means_ to you... regardless of the paradise or reward that awaits each of them", Arquen contradicted him quietly, yet rather firmly, her grip upon him tightening, forcing him to look away from the valley stretching before them and upon her.  
>"I speak not a blasphemy of our Parents name when I say this... I merely speak a living truth for all beings that feel as we do. They go to the Void, yes, they go to eternal infinity, to serve at His right hand... yes, but that it not what I am speaking of. What I am saying, is that each of these remarkable individuals, these mortals and an immortal, who must die, are collective fragments of yourself, and to destroy them, these seven pieces, you are doing that of yourself, whether you feel it or not. It would be no different then if I had to take a metaphorical or literal torch to my own Sanctuary, the pain of such an irrevocable action would be present regardless of whether or not it is being performed to appease our Parents. They know our pain better then even we, and our pain is part of what they see in us, what makes us such indispensable children of Darkness."<p>

Lucien studied the older woman's earnest features for the briefest of moments with all the tenderness of the lover he was, and with his free hand, he brought it gently upon her face, caressing the delicate paling gold of her smooth cheek, the darkness within his eyes somehow the collage of resolve yet understanding of her words, familiarity of her intent, and gratitude, yet also something reapproving in his manner.

"You glimpse my cold meticulousness, my pragmatism, and misunderstand what I meant at my very depths, dearest sister... but you do so in a way that warms me, even now", He replied evenly as she savoured his loving touch, her eyelids nearly closing entirely with pleasure as she listened almost hazily, yet hung to every word simultaneously.

"I have never claimed it to be simple... nothing worth having or doing in this world is simple. I _do_ feel what I am prepared to do... regardless of what it is or when I do it, I _always _feel something, and I do not try to trick myself by telling myself otherwise, conscience or no conscience. I have not in decades done as much. I am to dismember and tear apart my own Family, yes, at the will of Sithis and the Night Mother, yes, due to the Traitors actions, again, yes... but there has never been, nor after this deed has been performed by both I and my Assassin will there be, a moment in which I do not see their faces, hear their voices, even the ones I have known already recently gone or long gone. I have said it twice now... first to Ungolim, secondly to the Night Mother, and now I say it to you: the Family residing within the Cheydinhal Sanctuary is not guilty of anything, it is I who am guilty of this matter, tearing them asunder. I could not convince Ungolim, and now they pay for my own form of failure, regardless of Ungolim's own."

"While they do go to the Void, and will be reunited there, amongst the other great brothers and sisters they will meet, I speak of their physical time upon this realm. Vicente a great many times recalled his entire history to me with perfect clarity... as he does any attentive listener, and while I hold not his Dark Gift, nor have I lived as long as you or he, I do as well, for the most part, remember my own within the Brotherhood now and before. I remember the first time I met Vicente as a young man, his elegance, his complete understanding of me and what I felt, the frequency with which I conferred with him be it over my contracts or my own journeys and life, the lessons he passed along to me that no other has been able to do, the love and the care for my well being that has never wavered since that time. He paid and pays attention to me as you say that I do to you... with an open mind that thirsts more for knowledge then even the beauty and thrill of blood... and now I must wrong him, I must rip away the century's that developed him and made him the great being of the night that he is, and carry that with me... I must, in some regards, prey upon him as he does his mortal victims."

"Without mercy. Without compassion. As the same will be done to the others. As the same _must _be done to them".

"To Ocheeva and Teinaava, the brother and sisters I have known since they were but hatchlings, born unto the Nirn under the sign of The Shadow, and when the task befell me to train them in Blackmarsh in the ways of the Shadowscale, to pass along the very knowledge I had gleaned from both myself and Vicente, not merely techniques of killing, cunning or sneaking, but of the life that awaited them and it's many lessons, lessons they took to heart as my children. Training them... I carried out the blessings of our Night Mother, inducting two beautiful individuals of darkness, into our ranks. They have sought always to earn my approval, not realizing that it was never necessary. They have never moved in inch in the direction of disappointing me. Now I likely do as much to them."

"To Telaendril, who of all my contracts was the only person ever to elude me... to return vengeance upon the taker of her own contract, her father. Telaendril whose ambition has, since arriving to our Sanctuary, taking my offer as noone has ever refused me, long been a mirror to my own in my youth. Seeking not only to perform the will of Sithis, the will of the Night Mother, but to better herself in every regard. Were the Purification unnecessary, I could still imagine her rising onward and sitting upon the Black Hand one day in the future as I do now, be it Speaker or Listener, and now this possible achievement she has long sought cannot be realized."

"There is Mraaj Dar then... who has long reminded me of Uvani in many regards, both volatile, each carrying a great anger that can scarcely be managed, an anger of such passion that it seems to fuel them almost entirely. While I say this of Mraaj Dar, it is not said derisively so... I have glimpsed in him, like Uvani, what lies beneath his anger... the true self gradually unveiling it's self, a self that, once used to one he deems an outsider, used to their presence, when they have gained his respect, he loves them to such a degree that he cannot bring himself to show it overtly as you and I might with ease. While so very overt in anger... it is the subtly lurking beneath these complicated confines that is his beauty, his innermost strength... to say nothing of his magical ability's, which are perhaps greater then my own, and he is younger then I... with the proper time, he could have been the greatest of all magic users amongst the Brotherhood."

"Then there is Gogron... Gogron whose passion and zest for life is all but overwhelming. I have not met one as optimistic as that Orc is, it is his admittedly childlike manner and delight, when not ripping his contracts to messy, albeit, amusing pieces, despite his physical appearance and brutish nature, that has kept my Family going in even the most difficult times, and has rejuvenated even I... when not trying to squash me like a bug in his embrace, unintentionally of course. He has found in Telaendril the woman, Elf that is to say, my apologies again, that _I_ have found in _you_. That of a lover who understands particularly unique workings in him that no other can... and now, I part them from the physical world, to rejoin together in the Void."

"All these remarkable individuals... they have led now to this final one... this beautiful young woman Ungolim could not spare. Antoinetta Marie. If you had but seen her through my own eyes on the particular night I came to her with my offer, Arquen, you would know entirely what I am saying... though to be sure, you have had family members similar to her, and you have met her, have seen her nature, you know what she is like and the generality I am referring to. To see her in that alleyway after the hand life had dealt her... and to be there with my own to offer her, something changed in her tear stained eyes in that moment, as if my life flitted into her, that she drew it from me, and I saw my own worth to the Family reflected in the gratitude of those eyes, and her manner ever since that night towards me. I gave her something very great and unlike anything she has ever known any time prior, and now, before she has barely sipped from her mortal cup, from the darkness she exudes so wonderfully, she dies a young woman, a child, one who, despite joining us, in bringing her tenderness to us, to us all, from her... attempts, to cook better then Vicente and Gogron, to her gossip spreading, despite any of this, she leaves behind a wealth of experiences she could not undertake. I could have taught her more, and I did not. Now, she dies nearly a Maria did too... with too much left not undertaken."

"Destroyed youth. There are truly few things crueler in this world".

"I bear the weight of this Purification, as I have said, and will continue to do so... I do not _want_ or _need _forgiveness... perhaps they will understand the reasons for which I did this upon the day I see them again in the Void however long or short down the road that may prove, perhaps they will not... but what I know is this of the family I brought together: they are truly perfect... they are the standard by which all future Family's must be born and measured, the standard of which all those Family's that succeed them must strive to follow. When this is done, this generations Cheydinhal Family having taught others to come, I will be truly satisfied... if this is the legacy I leave behind, I will part from this world knowing then that I have succeeded as a Speaker, in making the Brotherhood a greater empire and Dark Family of the night. It would be a greater thing to be known for then my hunt of the Traitor, or any other event I have been involved in preceding this one. And I hope... I hope so very much, the Night Mother will be satisfied with my service... for She and the Father are what truly matters. I will _never _forget my family... they have honoured me well, as true brothers and sisters... but the hunt goes on".

Slowly, gradually, he stopped stroking her face over the course of his explanation, yet kept his hand intertwined down at his side with hers, and again, he peered out over the coast, very little having changed in his calm, introspective gaze and manner. He was resolved, and had been from the start... and it was then Arquen believed that he alone of the Black Hand held the strength to do what he had to. That it was this reason the Mother had chosen him. Tears threatened, as they had in the meeting, now at the resolution of his mind, body and soul, the immovability, and she knew that only Two that existed truly held the power to make him stop, or to falter, once he was set upon something, be the task impossible or possible... the difference was as trivial in him as the gap in their ages.

"You are Her favourite son, Lucien", The High Elf murmured softly, leaning now against his shoulder, pressing her head to his tightly, gazing down into his calm eyes. At this, his free arm rose around the curve of her waist, drawing her closer to himself affectionately. "Her favourite child, even, I believe. I have been wrong about things before, as all have, but of this, I am certain. You do not strive to be so... nor is it your goal to be, it simply is. It is not a matter of faith, for there have been many of equal faith, not of accomplishment or skills. It is of your soul, Lucien... your soul that sets you apart from the rest of us... yet manages to be so very like ours. I do not know what it is, for as well as I know you, there are some depths, some layers, that cannot be glimpsed by mortal eyes... perhaps Vicente saw that in your heart when first he met you... I? I saw something else... I saw an ancient all knowing mind residing in a body far younger then it, that performed and brought about a glorious darkness wherever it ventured. I love you, dearest brother... and while we each have been set back in this investigation by the others... we would not be as far along as we are if either of us had given up. We will see this situation through to the end, as we did from the start, and we will do so_ together_.".

Lucien uttered a faint appreciative laugh, a beautiful low note that carried into her ear at this sentiment, and the fire crackled and leap behind them. Under the pale blood light of the Masser, the ghost light Secunda and the orange glow of the fire illuminating their camp, and their grazing steeds, Lucien's hold around her waist tightened agreeably. His eyes, while partially contented, were somewhat distant as they had been in Ungolim's basement.

"We shall _indeed_ see, my love."

* * *

><p><strong>Well, there's the Black Hand as seen by me for you... I will, as in the past, make some notes in regards to this segment. I see this chapter as having taken place a year beyond the last, during the time we the player are involved in the game.<strong>

**First of all: Ungolim. I had so very little information on him, for there barely is any description of the man beyond his physical appearance... apart from a single word from the Night Mother: "Weak". When I first played Oblivion, I admit, I was confused as to why they had all these intimidating speakers, and this tiny elf in the role of listener... Ungolim seemed a little laughable to me... but that was years prior, before I had real insight in the world... more will be revealed of him in the next chapter, but I shall describe him a bit more here, and my inspiration for why he is like this. All I had was the word 'weak' to go on... but there are so many ways to interpret that... so, I invested a great deal of myself into him, drawing inspiration from my own... weaknesses, problems. I looked at his position in the brotherhood, his family and loved ones, and I realized just how binding his position could have been. This is a man whose true love is his Black Hand, and because they are all usually off carrying out his orders, there is little to no time to spend with one another, unlike the old days when they could... before responsibility. As time went on, they grew distanter from each other. I took my own highschool experience and used it for this piece. I had great friends in highschool... people I loved, love, more then I can ever say... and slowly i've been watching most of them drift away from me... too busy with their own lives and problems to spend time with me any longer... either forgetting about me, or in some cases... coming to hate me for reasons I could not fathom. I'm just trying to make sense of it all... and hold on to as many of them as I can. I also experienced exclusion quite often... people I thought were my friends not wanting me to go to parties and get togethers with them... everyone but me going to these get togethers, and me having to sit at home by myself. At times... my home, particularly my room, have become a prison. I often do things in a loop, unable to break out of it... but I keep trying. I get up in the morning... I clean up and eat before going to work, work all day, come home, eat, go on the computer, sleep... then I do it all over again. I feel as though I am in a purgatory at times... a hell worse then most... and I can see this working with Ungolim, slowly feeling himself growing weaker... running almost on willpower alone... feeling as though insanity is near. I have experienced great emptiness for a long time... slowly losing the will to do things, but forcing myself to keep on, hoping to make something of my life... to find a reason for it all, like I once had amongst my friends. Hoping to find love. The reason the Bravil Sanctuary is of no interest to Ungolim, is because they are not his loved ones... if he can't have the people he really loves, he does not want anyone at all. This bit is only partially like me... I dwell on lost friends and loved one's, but I am willing to have more and new ones... it is just remarkably difficult for me to find anyone... a shy personality, I guess. Loneliness... that was a key factor and theme I wanted in Ungolim, as well as his ability to project the illusion of stability, having to wear a mask day in and day out in public so nobody realizes how troubled he is... though his Black Hand is well aware of his pain, only a couple of them are interested in helping alleviate it... but they themselves are very busy in their own affairs, and cannot afford to spend too much time on him, even if they want to. As it is, his slow weakening and deepening bitterness and anxiety has made him neglect his duties, potentially endangering the brotherhood, and forcing Lucien and Arquen to confront him about it. He allows himself to live in the shadow of one of a far more powerful personality, that of Lucien, and doubts himself and his being a Listener when he looks around and see's these other great men and women actually still performing contracts and being of use to the brotherhood, ironically ignoring his own importance as Listener. He see's himself as a letter writer... not the asset he was when he killed for the family. He feels prematurely retired, and aches to go back out into the world, but cannot.**

**The world is moving on... out of his reach... and he can't catch up with it.**

**Second: Lucien. In this chapter I sought to give him the chance to make his frustrations known to the Listener... Lucien is a man of great patience, but imagine watching your loved ones slowly taken from you one by one, and have someone else blocking your ability to save them because of their own problems, neglecting their duties. Lucien has had enough, and decided to make this know by verbally beating Ungolim, as well as Uvani for his rudeness. It was also my intention to at last show what he felt and thought in regards to the Purification... for we the player only receive his calm cold logic in regards to slaying the family, the most difficult quest I ever had to do. I felt that he does love them... but his duty must always come first... nevertheless, I sought to show this care by having him attempt to bargain for the live's he believed he could spare. He wishes there were an alternative... but as a man of great willpower and resolve, unbreakable loyalty and love for the Mother, he would destroy everything else he loved for her it it were necessary. The family, I decided, is buried in the sanctuary after we the player kill them... which only made clear sense to me. Overall, I just wanted to explore the innermost ticking of such a powerful, evil individual, and explain how he see's such a morally difficult situation... and do so in a way that is faithful to what Lucien stands for. I rather liked the image in my mind of him speaking at the lucky old lady's statue, or thinking anyway, to the one he has given everything for. I didn't want his remorse to feel contrived or forced... it's not even really remorse, for Lucien does not strike me as one to carry such... just a wish things could have played out different.**

**Third: The Hero of Kvatch/Champion of Cyrodiil. It was my decision from the start not to give this individual we play as any sort of identity, other then rank and accomplishment. The customization process allows he or she to be anything we want them to be... and although my Hero is a dark hair Nord man, he is not any of your characters but mine. This story is not about our hero, rather the events occurring outside of what we experience in the game... the whole game being about us. I have tried to keep this character as vauge as possible, but admittedly never felt the urge to exclude them from the story, due to their clear importance in what occurs in the Dark Brotherhood.**

**Fourth: The other speakers. With Uvani, I wanted to demonstrate his clear anger, and the reason for such anger... him being separated from his family. I thought there should be a reason to why he is so volatile when we see him in game... and after considering the matter, it was obvious why he would be like that. With J'Ghasta, I had to reflect his personal loyalty to the Listener, and how uncomfortable he is as Lucien strikes home with his frustrations... Jghasta has been copying his Listener far too much, and as such, has been also causing the brotherhood harm, including himself. Arquen... well, there isn't much to say about her in this one... other then what I have written in regards to her well being will foreshadow what is to come. Ill just say that each of these characters, as a family, cause one another problems in spite of their love for one another. The Black Hand is just like that in my mind... and bickering quite a bit.**

**Fifth: The Silencers/The Burnings. In regards to Blanchard, he is only mentioned once in a particular book that you all probably know of... I thought it would make sense to make him Lucien's prior Silencer, and be working with Arquen's, Shaleez. As far as "The Burning's" go... this is an event Lucien, Arquen, Shaleez and Blanchard discovered and investigated together during the past year of the story... the discovery of the burned remains the Traitor foolishly left behind. I rather think this would be a good idea for a story, but cannot at this time fathom being able to do it xD... if any of you want to give it a shot though yourself, let me know first, and maybe I can lend you some ideas.**

**That's about it... sorry that I seem so undescriptive in these notes compared to the story... as I write this, it is night after working all day... and I feel very tired in my mind. I should wait until I have more time and feel better... but time isn't a luxery right now. Thank you for reading, any of you who have taken the time to do so... I would definitely appreciate reviews, as ever, but understand if you cannot. The next chapter will begin drawing the story to a close... the death of Lucien Lachance. Thanks again, and have a good one :).**

**-Antihero276**


	6. Part 6: Into the Void: A Voice Silenced

**MewlingEwe: Thank you very much for the review, it means a lot to hear I was able to evoke such emotions out of you in my writing, that's one of the most important things a writer can hope to achieve... I hope you enjoy the remainder of the story :), and that it continues to entertain you. Fanfiction has a reputation for not being too great, or screwing things up... its good to be among the storys not so reviled xD. Thank you for the support and appreciation, it is much appreciated, and really helps keep me writing.  
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**Suilaid: Thanks for the understanding, when I started this story I believed it would garner a bit more attention then it had been getting, but not out of arrogance, merely the fact that Elder Scrolls has such a huge fanbase... still, its just one of those things, and I am very grateful to those who do read and enjoy my story, like yourself :). On the contrary, your review is very helpful :).  
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**AnnaValtieri: Thank you again for such a long, insightful review :), often it seems people just write these really quick, short ones off the top of their heads, and don't take time to explain themselves in-depth like you... while I appreciate all reviews, your type are the ones that are the best, it would be wonderful to receive more, provided you are pleased with the result of this chapter.  
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**Wylrin: Glad you like the story, hope to hear more from you :).  
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**Anon: Thank you for the appreciation, i understand the trouble with mobile over pc, if you ever get the chance though, it would be great to see a full review from you, no worries if not though :).  
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**Dreamysherry: Ahh, another Lucien fan eh? ;) good to hear you like how I've portrayed him... hopefully you will find his unfortunate end as I have written it to be fitting of the great man himself. I had a blast introducing the Cheydinhal Family through Antoinetta's POV, it just seemed to work in my head. As far as Shadowmere being an undead horse, Antoinetta was more referring to her in general. Shadowmere is a being of the Void, and anything from the Void is not alive. Thanks again!  
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**Well... here I am again folks, it's been a little while, and perhaps given the spoiler regarding what this chapter will be about that I left at the end of the last chapter, perhaps a little anticipation has been building, sorry for the wait, things have been going better for me in my life, but I've been a fair bit busier as such. Still, we're here now, that's what counts. First of all, ill acknowledge it... we all know what ultimately becomes of our favorite Speaker, and the best character of Oblivion. We know the messy end he meets... and I am not going to change that, as many people wish they could. Altering the key fact that Lucien Lachance dies would be an insult to the character, just as it would be for me not to show you his death. I decided early on to give a complete picture of the horrendous pain he suffers, because it needed to be told... make no mistake though, it will be interspersed by many details I will explain at the end of the chapter, additions I have made to try to make this more than a mere death scene... but the culmination of a long, interesting life and career. This is the last you will see of Lucien in the story, and I needed to wrap him up properly, give him his due. I'll stop talking now, and let you see what I have come up with first hand... again, explanations will follow. I hope you enjoy what I have written... so here you are:  
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><p><em><strong>The Death of a Speaker<strong>_

The swirling of beautiful, crystalline snowflakes descended freely and abundantly over the mountaintop city of Bruma and its surrounding valleys that evening, and the temperature dropped ever steadily lower. Although a common enough sight for Cyrodiil's northernmost city, stretching to the border of Skyrim, it was a lovely one, even for the long time occupants, be they Nords, Imperials or any other race residing there for entire generations. The purity of the snow was carried upon the equally cold winds, spreading outwards in every direction, over the tops of homes inside and outside the city perimeter. Laying just east on the outskirts of the Bruma gates, far enough away to become its own relatively silent world, there was the tiny farm of Applewatch, once occupied and overseen by the head of the Draconis family, and now, very much absent of the kindly old woman who had owned it for many years.

The surrounding acres and forests were already becoming submerged under the great snowfall, including the small patch of crops beside the home, the rickety gateway in front of the farm, long neglected and having fell into disrepair, and the equally small section devoted to the final resting place of the Imperial family that had once resided together on the farm, now reunited in death. Five freshly placed identical gravestones and coffins had been set side by side and buried, the snow mercifully covering the once fresh and now brittle, frozen dirt. The headstone of the family's mother, Perrina Draconis, sat in the centre of these five, two sons and two daughters, yet the only headstone set apart from the others was the one on her right, that of Cailea Draconis, for resting propped against her own tombstone, stuck into the dirt, was a long, steel sword, glinting in the scarlet and white light of the evening's moons peaking through the clouds. The Draconis Family had been well known and respected by the occupants of Bruma, and a great many men and women had been devastated upon hearing word of the terrible, unjustified fates that had befallen each of them... startled by the sheer suddenness with which the cruelty came.

Perrina, the head of the family, having often paid long visits into town and had been loved for her kindness and altruism towards others, be they children or adult... it did not matter who they were, all she came across were equal in her gentle eyes. Pretty well everybody in town knew who she was... right up to the Countess, in some form or another. She had been everything a child could wish of a mother, being supportive of her children's ambitions or lack of them even, and constantly seeking to improve their lives, giving them an upbringing a countless others of the Nirn would have appreciated having themselves. She had been modest, kind, the friend to a great many people, and pure of heart to match... in short, she held many quality's so few anymore had in the harsh times plaguing the whole of Cyrodiil at that point in the third Era, and quality's steadily receding, their absence felt all over. The year in which the Oblivion Gates had begun to pollute Cyrodiil with their fiery presence, 433, was one that brought out either the best or the worst in people... but with Perrina, the best had always existed, and didn't change under any circumstances. Yet not even the gentleness of this old woman's soul or her immense generosity was enough to stop herself from being found murdered on her own farm, was enough to keep her from recieving such an unexpectedly violent end. No matter how much time was to pass, a great void was to be left in the collective spirit of many of Bruma's citizens... from which they would not truly recover from... but hers was not the only passing that ended in violence in regards to the rest of her family.

The eldest and most successful daughter, Cailea, had quite some time prior left the mountains of Bruma and journeyed down the Valley into the Imperial City, enlisting as a member of the Imperial Watch in the process. She had been a very popular, lovely girl, growing up... and reaching into adulthood, there had been many suitors asking her hand in marriage... but she hadn't held the desire to marry yet... her heart set upon something entirely else altogether. Since her childhood, Cailea dreamed of being apart of something greater than herself... greater than Bruma alone... in seeing the sights of her province... her Empire. There had been a warriors fire within her growing up... a fire inspired by watching Legionnaires pass by her town on horseback in full battle armour, reading countless books about them and their heroic exploits... as well as watching the Bruma guard barracks when the guards were out, assembled and practising military formations. For a time she had debated between remaining at home and becoming a guard in Bruma, or travelling to the heart of the Empire and carrying out what she felt to be her duty... in the end, it was the greater pull of the latter that had prevailed. She had served a tour in the Legion, and in the loyal service of the Empire had earned a distinction among her peers, and the great approval of her superiors. The time had taught her much, honed her into one of the Legion's best soldier's, and introduced her to life beyond her little mountaintop town. In spite of her pleasure in serving the Empire and it's citizens... the idea of being a guard, it seemed, had never entirely left her... perhaps it was due to the fact that in doing so, she would be able to remain among citizens of a town, seeing the people she protected, rather than travelling abroad all the time, never having the time to settle in at one place for more than a few days. Travelling had not come to bore her... far from it... rather, it had taught her just how important it was to make and have a home... but rather than returning to the one she'd had... she decided to make a new one herself. Following the successful tour, she travelled across Cyrodiil and down into Leyawin, having been intrigued by the city in the times she had passed through it... and she had settled herself there, becoming a member of the City's Watch, and before long, greatly impressing the Count and Countess of the city, being promoted to the position of Captain of the Guard, a position few women in Cyrodiil had ever held... indeed, she was the only one of her time to wear such a title. Although very much different from her Mother, being of greater ambition, through her upbringing, she had inherited Perrina's kindness and fairness to others, a marked sense of justice, to the point that not only the inhabitants of Bruma and Leyawin were shocked at the news of her abrupt, unsolved murder, but a great many of the Imperial Legion she had served with.

In sharp contrast to the successes of her renowned elder sister and despite her proper upbringing, free of any traumas or pains, life had dealt Sibylla Draconis an entirely separate hand. The Imperial had, growing up in such a proximity to a nearly entirely Nord city, developed the characteristics and traditions of the powerful peoples of the North, and sought not to travel for the purposes of serving the Empire and its citizens as Cailea had, but for adventure, and to hunt and trap animals across the mountaintops and land surrounding her. Her aggressive Barbarian's spirit had been well known and appreciated by many of the citizens of Bruma, and in her youth, she could be seen prowling the land around the farm, or the streets of the city she had learned from, like a huntress, her often stoic or scowling face covered in streaks of war paint, her hair messy and let down, and often brandishing an axe as she learned the ways of Skyrim amongst it's citizens, though just as often earning the ire of the Imperial town guards for the admittedly limited amount of clothing she would wear as she did so. Eventually, she too like her brothers and sister had realized Bruma held no future for her, and had left the city, venturing on up beyond the border into Skyrim in order to prove herself worthy enough of her adopted customs... and she remained travelling through Skyrim for at least three years with little word back to her family, to the point they suspected at times she had been killed in her travels... until eventually, she had returned, more changed by far than even Bruma had been able to accomplish for her. The harshness of the Nord province had roughened her in a way Cyrodiil never could... but whatever she had seen and done up there to affect her as much as it did, she never discussed, even with her mother. Indeed... it was not a great surprise, for even growing up she had been one of few words, rarely holding conversations with anyone in Bruma, unless they had something to teach her about Nord customs and useful skills. Why she had not remained in Skyrim, where she had admitted she felt the most at home in, had been confusing... but perhaps deep within she had felt an obligation to bringing back her knowledge to conquer the landscape that had truly raised her. Fully immersed in her adopted ways, in her survival across the near frozen land of the north, she had continued her journey, this time bound to pass through Cyrodiil and spending most of her time, when not hunting, living in caves amongst the wild animals she respected more than humans, and tamed them for companionship when she was not skinning them for clothing. Two years prior she had sought out one particular cavern in Muck Valley, between the Imperial City and Cheydinhal, and, having found it much to her liking, had chosen to live there permanently... or at least for a while.

Unlike with the fate of her elder sister, few were surprised when she too had been murdered, a great many of the theory's being that she had started a long, aggressive conflict with some of the local bandits in her neighbouring area. Her respect from the Nord community had only increased with the violent nature of her death, many of them assured that despite her Imperial parentage, her soul would find its way not to Azura, but either to the warriors paradise of Sovngarde to sip mead with the greats, or as some believed more likely given her love of wolves and other wildlife, to serve at Hircine's side for a grand hunt that would last for all eternity.

It would seem that, as with the Draconis daughters, a similar occurrence would happen between the two entirely different sons of the family. Andreas Draconis had long been the most dutiful of the children growing up on the Applewatch farm, learning all the lessons of the land there were to know at his mother's side, and becoming an excellent farm hand in the process. For a time it seemed that was all he was ever going to be... having few ambitions, beyond a good, consistent working spirit. As he grew, however, he came to spend more and more time in the walls of Bruma, and had, at the same time, become introduced to the idea of running a tavern, an occupation that if one was successful in, would bring in countless Septims. He sought this goal with great determination, creating his own brews and learning from others the secrets of wines, mead's and other assorted liquors in the process from masters of such subjects, going hand in hand with his knowledge of growing fruit and crops. Eventually, adopting an excellent business sense, he earned enough money selling his concoctions not only to move away from Bruma and the Applewatch farm, but to build and own a successful Inn, one he dubbed The Drunken Dragon Inn, northeast of his sister's home of Leyawin, in the woods close to the Yellow Road. Catering to weary, exhausted travellers, be they from the Legion, Fighter's Guild or otherwise, he earned a good living as more and more people frequented his establishment... word moved quickly across Cyrodiil, and within a single year, his tavern was among the most popular to exist, people coming from all over to sample his wares. At long last, Andreas had found his calling, and revelled in it...yet not even this new-found popularity and staggering achievement proved to be a deterrent from being murdered inside his own tavern courtesy of the actions of one such seemingly anonymous visitor of the road.

The fourth and final of Perrina's children was her eldest son Matthias Draconis, who himself owed far more in manner to his younger sister Sibylla, with whom he had at one time explored the mountain land around the farm, be it mere exploration and adventure or hunting for the Draconis' dinner together. Although he was quite good at hunting and trapping animals... as it turned out, it was facing opponents more like himself that called to him the most. Since he was a child, he too had long harboured and fuelled the spirit of a fighter, a warrior, often seen fighting with the other children within Bruma whenever he visited the city, to the point the guards often had to intervene and give him frequent warnings that went on unheeded. Despite his adeptness at fighting, there wasn't the self discipline or control in him that Andreas and Cailea were so capable of demonstrating... or a maturity. Violence and anger was almost as untameable within him as his sister's huntress spirit, and not even his mother's kind wisdom, understanding and gentleness provided much inspiration for him to calm or repent his violent, soon to be criminal ways, and as such, upon reaching adulthood harnessed this anger not into Legion service, nor continued the hunting of wild animals for sport and nourishment, but for himself, becoming a mercenary for any who would pay him properly enough, and harnessing his skills with a blade and his fists into a life time profession. Long had he been warned against this kind of life by his mother, who had told him time and time again of what ultimately become of those who lived lives of sin and evil... yet her words went on unheeded by him, as ever... and perhaps because of this, as it occurred with all her other children, Matthias's life of violence _ended _in violence.

All these children, each so very different then the others, who had once blessed Bruma with their very presence, their having existed, had been murdered with their mother, and truly it was a remarkable waste. Another family fading from existence and leaving behind only memories in its wake. All that stood now in regards to them each was, not only their varied reputations or graves, but their family farm, their home, where they had all learned, cared for one another, and had thrived... now, as all things living invariably received, this would one day be swept away by time as the years passed, falling to pieces with the ones who had built it... and all that would one day remain was the everlasting tale of the Draconis Family that would live on in Bruma, passed down from generation to generation... long gone, but never forgotten.

Yet, this was not to occur for some time to come... for the farm of Applewatch was to be the site of an intertwining, entirely related event that too would go unforgotten... and by a Family not altogether _different _from that of the Draconis's.

While by all means the Applewatch farm looked deserted on the outside, be it by its isolated run down appearance, being surrounded by snow, or known _fact_ by those who _had_ heard of the Draconis family's grim fate, residing now within the farm behind its solitary locked door there was nevertheless a single troubled Imperial man clad in black robes and an adorned hood. He was not a new owner of the farm and its surrounding land, or even a simple passerby seeking a place to sleep for the evening in his travels, and he would not be staying for very long. He had come due to the possibly irreparable discord and violence running rampant in his own Family, which, although having been a lengthy, unsettling affair, was only now reaching the very boiling point, he had come, for now his _own _life hung in the balance as it had been with the others preceding him.

Within Applewatch, Lucien Lachance paced up and down the cracked stone floor of the farm in deep thought, his hands folded unconsciously behind his back as he paced, no longer the dark eyes within the depths of his hood entirely calm, his dry, thin lips drawn inwardly taught with concern. There was no fear within his eyes for himself, rather, for the situation that had been steadily taking over the entirety of his life and the lives of those closest to him. They passed about the interior of the home, comprising of only a single main room, the lit fireplace in the corner, the single no longer used bed on the opposite side of the room, some littered tables, barrels and chairs, a counter running along western wall, a small pantry resting before one of the farm's few windows and a dresser. Although by all accounts on the outside of the home it had seemed rather small as he approached it, the door still unlocked, when it came right down to it, when he had entered he knew the single room held enough functionality within it to have served it's purpose, the raising of a large family together, and it had been done without the far superior spaciousness of his own dead Sanctuary.

Now, as it had been with the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, when he had finished slowly pacing its empty halls in the aftermath, finding and burying each of his most beloved ones within, it was as if everything had been dropped, and the home altogether abandoned right in the middle of the night. A dog bed absent of its namesake, a half sewn quilt bundled in a chair by the fire, the utensils and dishes and urns of pewter set out upon the table and counters, the food in each of the dishes already rotting, just as surely as the old woman who had owned all this now was in the ground. The roof was suspended high where overlooking the centre of the farmhouse, yet crisscrossing wooden sections, beams and panels helped strengthen the integrity of the building's foundation and ran over head... although a primitive, small place, it would be able to last for some time on its own, even to endure in the harshest of weather, as it undoubtedly had for quite some time as it was. While his gaze took in all the details of the home surrounding him, the home now meant to hide him from those he called his Dark Brothers and Sisters, they scarcely truly saw anything at all, for it was his mind's eye that was most prevalent and alert at this time.

The Purification had been a success... perhaps not the most accurate of statements, in hindsight... for although all within the Sanctuary were gone... the Dark Brotherhood's troubles, of course, continued on. What had been a success had been his idea in regards to the one who was now not a mere Assassin, but his very Silencer... the latest addition to the Black Hand, and his new Talon. In spite of what had been undoubtedly great difficulty... the Silencer had admirably shouldered the burden, and had obeyed his command, killing those who had been family members... those who had taken the Silencer in with open arms, at the behest of their Mother's wishes. The Silencer hid it well... but Lucien had been able to see the clear effect the task had inspired both before and after it had been completed... whatever would become of the Silencer from here forward, it would be a matter never to be forgotten... one changing the dear child for all time. Entering the interior of his own dead Sanctuary had been an experience Lucien could compare to few others... finding it as stark empty as it had been... all the hard work, all the love ended... wiped away like writing on a slate. The presence and life of all of them, all of them he had brought and bound together as Family, now extinguished... as though they had never been to begin with. Well, there had been no words for it... there had been only actions left... and he had seen them through as he had vowed to... family member after family member... body after body... buried away together into the earth. Every grave dug had remained permanently implanted into his head, and he held not the slightest wish to try and forget... an insult to his fallen family, just as great as the one he had given them by killing them in the first place. They returned to him in his dreams during the nights after it all had occurred... but they had never spoken to him in them. Every time they came... they had merely stared back at him mutely... perhaps accusingly. It was more than in their right to do so... considering what he had done... and he had made no attempts to verbally defend himself... knowing, even through the pain of seeing them like that, all together in a row watching him... that it was merely a dream... and he had forced himself not to ponder over it... difficult as it was. Arquen had wished to discuss the matter in deeper detail... but Lucien, although appreciating her gesture, had not opened up about it... there was nothing left that could be said... what had been done had been done, and could not be taken back... such had been the Father's word, and such it had to remain. It had seemed for the briefest of times that, although a great sacrifice had been required for it in their Mother's name, that the Traitor had either been killed in the process, or had gone dormant. Lucien had believed the latter, Arquen as well... but as ever, the other three had been quite a bit more satisfied, had thought the situation was at last resolved, for who left within the Sanctuary could have been responsible? Gogron's bloated pet rat? A long rotting Dark Brother who had failed the Tenets? Lucien was to create a new family in Cheydinhal when the Night Mother willed it... that had been Ungolim's only concern afterward... to keep their sanctuaries full... they had been so assured the problem had been dealt with at long last. How wrong they had been proven regardless... and in the worst possible way.

After the matter had been seen through, Lucien had given the Silencer another of his most beloved companions... Shadowmere. At the time, it hadn't occurred to him why he had chosen to do so... it had merely seemed the natural reward for the succsession to Silencer... but it was _with_ time, particularly now in the present, that he had come to understand why. It had been out of love for his Silencer... certainly, for the faith displayed in performing such a task... but in the end, it had also been an act of penance... in a way. He had not regretted doing what he'd had no choice to... but he had felt it necessary to sacrifice another part of himself, another of those he loved... for the sake of the Cheydinhal Family, to show them what they meant to him. It wasn't much... actually, it was nothing when compared to the sacrifices they had made... their lives, but for the moment, it had been all he _could_ give in their memory. He had bid Shadowmere farewell, and had ridden her one final time along the forests of Cyrodiil, prior to giving her away... and although her intelligent scarlet eyes were so often otherworldly and unreadable, and she could not speak... the years had bonded them and put them together within a higher realm of communication. She knew far more of what was occurring then he or the rest of the Hand did, a being born _entirely_ of the Void, pure, unlike Sithis's Children, born of the Nirn and then drawn to His presence when the time came... but he had sensed in her understanding for his intent, and the same love she had always held for him... and they had at last parted as they had first met... as equals, another piece of his soul cut away from him as she went. Relinquishing his long time connection to the Void's finest steed, he had set his Silencer about performing the latest contracts Ungolim had passed along... the murdering of the Necromancer Celedaen, before he had been able to render himself immortal... the pursuit and subsequent eradication of the entire Draconis Family, starting at the home he now stood in... Lucien had been tentatively hopeful that something had befallen the Traitor, something that had given them cause to falter, perhaps a fear of the extremes the Black Hand had demonstrated it's self willing to go to... a terror capable of overpowering insanity, but that had not been it... they truly _had _been biding their time, as he had feared. By the third contract delegated as the ones preceding it, to the Dead Drop locations Lucien had carefully arranged... the Traitor had climbed a step higher in ambition, from the murdering of the children of Sanctuary's, to the severing of the Black Hand's Fingers themselves.

It had been an abrupt whirlwind of events that Lucien had found himself caught up in, with barely any time to realize what was unfolding... J'Ghasta had been the first to fall in the city just outside Applewatch, at what he had believed to be the Traitor's hands... next had been Shaleez, Arquen's own Silencer out in her supposedly secure cavern. A plethora of letters had been making their way to Fort Farragut by the remainder of the Hand by then, each of them frantic, frightened and hurried, written off the top of their writer's head. Arquen had been beside herself with emotion, her writing scarcely legible any longer, the remaining Silencers, Uvani and Ungolim demanding to know just what had been going on. Lucien had _not _known, himself overtaken with a shock for a brief time that surprised even him, and had been forced to recollect himself, and set quickly about his investigation again, while simultaneously, in Chorrol, Arquen had begun to do the exact same on her own. He should have written to her then, when he had set about it... asked her to rejoin him. They had worked together so well for the entirety of the treachery... perhaps if he had contacted her, things could have turned out differently... but there hadn't been any more time to wait... he had needed to start right away, before any more fell to the Traitor... and he had been certain she would understand his intent. Soon, though not soon enough, racing along the province, Lucien had discovered what was occurring at the Dead Drop locations he had allotted to his Silencer... the true one's were being ignored, and it had been, in that instant, he had realized at long last his Silencer to be the Dark Brotherhood's Traitor.

By then, Uvani was the next to fall at the Silencer's hands, and Arquen... clever, deadly Arquen, had too discovered his Silencer to be behind the murders. By the time J'Ghasta's Silencer had fallen and rejoined with his Speaker in the Void, the Nord Havilstein, it had become apparent Fort Farragut was no longer safe to reside within any longer. Arquen, in her emotional state, as well as the remainder of the Black Hand scurrying like rats at her summons, members that had to be hastily promoted under the circumstances in an attempt to keep the dying Black Hand seemingly active and to full capacity, had contemplated the realization that the Silencer was responsible for the murders... _his_ Silencer. Arquen... she knew all too well the way Lucien operated with the Dead Drop boxes to keep himself free to extend his activity's further, and she knew his location outside Cheydinhal, where it had all started... he could not begin to consider what she had thought in that moment of conceivability... what she had _felt_, but she had made up her fragmented mind nearly at once, and followed it with all due haste as she so often did, having decided Lucien to be manipulating his Silencer... and _they_ had come after _him_. She had given the others his location... and all together they had begun to watch his movements... never up front and obvious about it, they tried to conceal themselves as they watched him... but his years had made him far more adept then most of them... and nothing in the world could watch him any longer without his knowing about it. It was always their shadows that gave them away, the darkness betraying them as it didn't him, or the smallest of things in the days they watched him from afar... and he had pretended not to know they were there, while taking the precaution of fortifying Fort Farragut's defences to a formidable level... just in case they tried to attack in the night... but they had not. In spite of their assuredness of his guilt... there was an unexpected hesitance amongst them to kill him... brought no doubt by Arquen... something that spoke volumes into what she was feeling at that time. Where she had never hesitated when it came to killing another, she did so with him... wanting to be one hundred percent certain in her own mind that she was right... it was a deeply profound shock... but one, in spite of the circumstances, that had touched him. Regardless, he had not given them much of an opportunity or time to decide when to attack him... and knowing how it would turn out if he went down to speak with them, the futility... the liklihood they would merely jump him, he departed before they made their minds up. Abandoning Fort Farragut just after Havilstein's death, the Speaker had travelled across Cyrodiil with the Black Hand in close pursuit, knowing at once who would become the next to fall without his intervention... the Listener himself.

He had departed with what he had believed to be a good head start on the Silencer... on the Black Hand, but this Silencer rode now with Shadowmere... the resulting outcome of what Lucien had thought then a misplaced gift of love and appreciation could have been no different.

Arriving too late before the Night Mother, he had witnessed the murder of the Listener he had loved at Her very feet, and had flown into a rare, true rage... the purity of his anger very nearly releasing it's self entirely... and he was prepared to cleanse the Brotherhood at last of its treachery... when he had faltered for perhaps the first time in his long career. The Silencer had truly not known. Had _not_ known... it was all there in those tell tale eyes... eyes conveying an innocence he had seen time and time again before bringing down his might upon another... and Lucien had not so much as raised his blade. _Could _not raise his blade. Understanding seemed to shoot its way through their respective minds symbiotically, and there in the presence of their Mother, they had each realized the nature of their mutual deception. The real Traitor had been tracking Lucien's couriers, switching the locations of the Dead Drop's to others, leading his Silencer far off course, and down one that instead served the Traitor's insidious purposes. The Purification had not frightened the Traitor, but had been yet another part of the scheme... he or she had wanted the Black Hand to become as desperate as it was... had wanted them to believe they had cleansed the Traitor... so they could be taken off guard. There was only one hope left to cast aside the suspicion, by now perhaps confirmation in their eyes, of the Black Hand pursuing Lucien, the next location, where which the Silencer was to pick up the reward for another completed contract, a reward for Ungolim, as well as the contract for another Finger to rid... by now either himself or Arquen. The plan, although rather simplistic, would surely be enough to clear his falsely accused name. The Silencer was to head to this location, a Drop Box out in Anvil, before the Traitor could leave behind further instructions and hopefully catch this individual or a messenger in the process... this lead was all they had going for themselves any longer. The Silencer was very much capable... but time was _not_ on their side, and never _had_ been.

In the hopes of diverting the Black Hand's attention, for they surely would have pursued the Silencer as well, given the chance, Lucien had left Bravil at once, leaving behind a sign or two of his presence on the way, and hopefully diverting their attention from the Silencer in the process. He had decided there to come to the Applewatch farm, chosen for its relative remoteness, and had led the Black Hand on a wild chase across the countryside and mountains, long enough to make it to the abandoned farm. Now, he was here... at the brink, the brink of the Black Hand's believed to be righteous vengeance. The brink of their ignorance, and their fury. Lucien held no illusions... and as far as he could remember, never had. He knew, under Arquen's guidance, her perhaps unrivalled tracking ability's and her knowledge of him, that the Hand _would_ find him... and _soon_. The best Lucien could hope for now was that his most faithful, deceived Silencer would discover the proper evidence to make the Black Hand see reason, and return before they did... and failing that, Lucien would try to convince them himself... to stall them, for as long as was possible.

Yet, it was that ravenous, unreasoning mad glint in Arquen's eyes, be it when pleasured, seeking pleasure, violent or all three, as well as her innermost depths, that he knew all too well. Would she, or any of the others for that matter, possibly listen to him when their minds had been made up and were clouded as they were? He did not truly know the answer to that... but he did know which outcome he felt the most likely. For some time he had been considering the possible identity of the Traitor... no longer did he believe them to be an underling... no, they had the cunning to pull this entire thing off far too easily... truly, it had to be one of the four pursuing him... likely three, for, although she had known the locations of his drop boxes, he did not, nor had he ever, believe Arquen capable of purposful deception, in her insanity... not from the time she had first entered his life. There was a single mindedness to her animal-like passionate nature and fanatic loyalty, once it was properly unleashed, and that single mindedness had been devoted entirely to the Night Mothers service... which left perhaps three suspects, three he was yet to see face to face, who she had promoted personally in her same hurriedness. All these considerations were only made that much more anxious with fear for the safety and sanctity of the entire Brotherhood at large, the sanctity of the Night Mother, and of his Silencer... but he did not fear for himself.

He did not. Had never, and even now that he stood on the edge, would never.

Whatever would occur, he would face... and do so to the best of his ability's. There was no alternative, as there were so few within the Dark Brotherhood. Yet, the rare sensation of uncertainty filled him, as it had when he was young and without guidance or love... would he, when the time came, draw his blade against all four, when only one of them was the Traitor? To strike down the entire Black Hand as surely the Traitor had done, but in so doing to save it? Beyond honouring the Parents, it was clear he Purification had been useless, unnecessary... and had merely been a self-inflicted wound. Would not killing the remainder of the Hand be doing what the Traitor wanted, even if the Traitor also fell? Wasn't that the goal all along, to harm the Brotherhood as much as possible? Such a thing, like the Purification it's self, had never been in Lucien's hands to see through any time prior to this one... a weight of such pressing complexity and magnitude. What would the Father think of him now? The favourite child _indeed_... he could not even find the answer himself... could not even prevent the Traitor from getting this far along and slaughtering his brethren, the ones he loved. Now, he might well have to murder Arquen as well... Arquen, the sole other remaining of the Speakers he had known and loved, as she would surely do so to him, and kill him in her own special little way, of course... and now that she _thought_ him a Traitor, _believed _him to be a Traitor, do so with a vigour like no other before as she had vowed to do from the start.

Lucien stopped his pacing, and closed his eyes, forcing his mind clear of all the images plaguing him, from his lover's pale golden face, her lips and teeth stained with blood, to each of the bodies he had quietly cradled close to himself in his Sanctuary after finding them, to the Lucky Old Lady who had watched Lucien fail to save Ungolim... and to the Silencer's troubled expression. He breathed deeply once more, steadying himself for what was to come. He would have to rely on his wisdom... as he always had, as the now gone Vicente had taught him to do. He would stand here, and he would wait for them to barge through that door, and he would not draw his blade at once... he would speak to them, speak to Arquen, try to make her understand, and he would simply _watch _them all carefully, until it came time to act. There was no other way. No other way. The decades had boiled down to this very moment... and truly it was all coming full circle. Even in his middle age, the unexpected lessons still came to him, courtesy of Her, and every other living soul he still knew.

The Parents watched him now... he was certain of it, with complete focus... he had to prove himself worthy of this attention, this whole focus.

Time dragged on... every second feeling like an hour... and he stood there in the centre of the room peering expectantly over to the door and it's meaningless lock that could not hold back either inevitability or fate. At some point in the night, fate came, in the form of a blinding flash of white lightning that struck the door into Applewatch, and it exploded, splintered into shreds and bits of wood, hurtling clear across the room and landing before Lucien, whose lips tightened upon glimpsing the smoking, charred crater where the door had once rested. The smoke and the night beyond obscured the four shadowy figures in the doorway, even the tallest of them at the forefront who had cast the spell, for a moment or two, but gradually died down, and they each, as one, backed by the swirling snow and light of the moons, peered back into his eyes... only one of them sending his heart into a racing frenzy.

Arquen stepped first into Applewatch, the steady, slow patter of her boots crossing the threshold's floor while the other three, although flanking her on both sides with their own blades drawn, stood back behind her a single pace, deferring to her powerful, overwhelming and seemingly omnipotent presence. Her face within the hood was more drawn and ill than before, yet utterly alive in a nearly white mask of rigid hatred, fear, and agony, her full lips twitching uncontrollably, baring now and again the razor-sharp flashes of her clenched teeth. The condemning, homicidal glint in her eyes grew ever brighter the closer they drew in the light of the flames, until they each stopped a little ways before him, her breast rising and falling as she drew in breaths she didn't seem to need. Her left gloved hand was a palm of the same living energy she had thrown at the door, while in her right she clutched her favourite, well used iron dagger. She did not blink, just as surely he did not, her gaze threatening to absorb him into her.

At her right hand, clad now in the same robes as she, Mathieu, the sole surviving Silencer apart from Lucien's own, stood in the place his old Speaker Uvani had once, and stood now in the presence of the one who had suggested him to become a Silencer to begin with. The Breton's prematurely lined face, so very pale, displayed scarcely anything as his dark eyes considered Lucien's own wordlessly, his head cocking quizzically to the side, examining the Imperial Speaker as though he were an oddity, a rare insect trapped inside a jar. He held his dagger confidently, drawn at the ready and simply waiting for the proper time. The other two, although he had met before, he knew of only vaguely. At Arquen's left stood a Dunmer Lucien had known, Banus Alor, himself too promoted to the rank of Speaker. He was alive with energy, his own chest rising and falling perhaps more quickly then Arquen's, and he wore a pleased, deadly grin on his ashen toned youthful face, his scarlet eyes glittering and dancing with passion, his gleeful manner almost that of an unthinking lapdog with little free thought of his own. He seemed on the verge of jumping at Lucien with his blade, a longsword composed of iron... and with the long coil of rope he had brought along, gathered under his arm, yet somehow managed to restrain himself.

At his side stood the fourth and final of the Speakers, a fellow Imperial by the name of Belisarius Arius. Belisarius Arius, Lucien knew as well, for he served as an administration go between for the numerous Sanctuary's, he and his underlings keeping constant contact between the Brotherhood Family's abroad in the other provinces, and the Dark Family's of Cyrodiil... a position of extreme importance and difficulty, and one that so rarely saw the murder of individuals. Perhaps it was this position that was to blame for the (even in the midst of Lucien's position did this curio startle him) surprisingly bored, tired even, vacant look resting comfortably upon the surface of his smooth, well tanned face, so very opposite of Arquen's lividness and horror, Mathieu's speculative silence and Banus's passionate energy, holding his own longsword, yet not clenching it with anticipation. These three new Speakers took very little of his attention for that moment, as Lucien's eyes drifted back to Arquen's horrified face, where every bit of her dark rage began to pool together as coldly as the wind following them into the farm.

"So...", She whispered quietly, drawing in an invigorating, hollow breath, the nostrils of her partially upturned nose flaring dangerously. "So..."

"Arquen...-

"You _dare_ look me directly in the eye and speak to me my own name?", Arquen hissed venomously, her glinting eyes widening with mad indignation and bewilderment. "_You_, who has murdered each of our Brothers and Sisters, our friends, who has come within a hairbreadth of destroying the Dark Brotherhood entirely? _You_, who have extinguished the light of the Listener. You do these things... and you speak to me still as though this visit is merely a casual one? A _liar_... a _contemptible unworthy_ liar and a _coward_ you have _always_ been, _Lachance_, and a manipulator, for _you_ alone held the ability's, the means to perform this treachery from the start. Why else was it Blanchard reacted so kindly to your meeting him in that alleyway, not knowing of his own looming betrayal for the outliving of his usefulness to you? To say nothing of my confiding into you of Sh-... Shaleez's location... which you promptly saw to as you have every other now dead. And the manipulation of your very Silencer now, a second manipulation of those who would be your Talon, who _actually _has been serving us faithfully, not knowing the path of destruction you have suspended".

"Arquen, it was neither my Silencer or I who has betrayed the Dark Brotherhood", Lucien replied quietly, gravely, in spite of the racing of his heart, his eyes beseeched her to understand that he spoke the truth, that he bared his soul to her, he took a single step forward, and the three around her raised their weapons higher warningly, but they did not matter. There was only her and him in that moment. "You _know_ me... you have known me for _years_, and have loved me... I have told you things, shown you things I have no other... I have given to you every ounce of love I hold, and I have _never _lied to you. I do not expect you to believe me... but you should. By now... you should, my love".

"I should not have to do anything you say, Lachance! I will not do anything you say any longer!", Arquen spat, her grip tightening that much more upon the handle of her dagger, her full lips continuing to tremble. The renewed use of his surname send a thrill of pain amongst all the others shooting though his heart that matched the one in hers. "The Night Mother trusted you... Sithis trusted you, your entire Family and the Black Hand trusted you! _I_ trusted you... _I_ trusted you where I have no other, with myself... I cared not for how young you were for even a moment... I let you into my heart as a true equal, and I was wrong... you have sought vengeance upon the Brotherhood, and regardless of the intent for doing so... death is the only way to purify this treachery, as you yourself have said. This is not yet over Lachance. Blood, and death... _then_ it will be. You will pay the price for what you have done. Why... why have you done this thing? Why would you throw everything you had away, and you... you had it _all_! You would toss aside the love, purpose and completion the Dark Brotherhood has given you... you would have done away with me as you have the others without... without a backwards glance! Everything I have given you from the start... all those words you spoke to me, to the others... all those displays... the times we spent together both on our own and amongst company... using me for your own ends with this investigation to divert the focus from yourself... why..."

"I have never, and will never betray the Night Mother, the Dread Father, the Dark Brotherhood, or you", Lucien disagreed again quietly as she broke off painfully, knowing that she was no longer, in her state, capable of truly hearing him... regardless he repeated it. Banus's eyes continued to dart between Arquen and Lucien, waiting with bated breath for the order that would not yet come, irritated with their continued exchange of words. "And I have never lied to you... have never lied... every word I have spoken... has been from my heart and has been true, as it has been from the beginning. Arquen... you speak to me of our past, of the times we spent together... can you not trust me this final time? Can you not find it within yourself to see that, although there is most certainly a Traitor, and that they stand in this room... it is not _I_."

Arquen seemed to draw from a yet hidden strength, and the hatred etched into her stricken face surmounted at this sentiment on his part, and a fire burned in her eyes... and as he had expected, his tone, nor his truth, was any longer capable of flitting within her and bringing understanding. She was truly gone, and he mourned the loss of her already as she exploded with fury.

"_Enough _of your damnable lies Lachance! There have been far too many of them as it is, and it is time the truth as Sithis would have it shine down upon us all! You thought you could lead us all upon a wild chase... but not even you could keep us from arriving here, prepared to do what needs to be done!", The Altmer Speaker hissed blindly, the flashes of her dagger teeth again glinting as she gnashed them together upon her lower lip, drawing a droplet of blood from within that travelled down her chin, foreboding as her tone. Her face twisted into a hateful, contorted sneer. "As senior Speaker of the Black Hand, a Black Hand you no longer belong to, this Judgement of the Black Hand commences. I hereby proclaim the Traitor Lucien Lachance stripped of his title of Speaker, and it shall be passed instead unto his faithful Silencer once the proper time comes, returning us to the number of power that is Five."

"My position in the Brotherhood does _not_ concern me, Arquen. After all this time... have you not grasped that? Titles are not of the direst concern this evening or any other that preceded it for me.", the now former, banished, Speaker interceded simply, studying the four before him now more intently, a trace of genuine sadness in his eyes reserved solely for Arquen. He shook his head slowly, pityingly. "What _troubles_ me is the fact that _murdering_ me would _not _save this Family... would only drive it that much further into the reaches of death out of your desperation to preserve our ways. If you strike at me, you merely further the Traitor's aims... and when I am gone, _you_ will be next. You _feel_, Arquen... you have always felt so very deeply, so overwhelmingly... and passionately that it has quickened me... but in this emotion... you rarely ever _think_. You act upon a primordial imbedded instinct, not upon the knowledge I have been giving of myself to you... knowledge that kept me from making one of my biggest mistakes with my Silencer".

"I now put forward the names of the men and women, the Brothers and Sisters, who have been murdered at his hands in his insanity, during his reign of chaos...", Arquen continued more loudly to her fellow Speakers in the hopes of driving out his words from swimming into her own ears, ignoring him and his unnatural, frightening calm, even now, her glove of electricity now tightening as well. "... so you might be able to grasp the scope of the possibly irreparable damage he has inflicted upon each of us. He started this heresy with the murder of a young girl in his Sanctuary... Maria, and from there... it spiralled outward, striking at my own Sanctuary...-

While Lucien heard her words, he withdrew himself from them, already knowing the names of each who had fallen to the Traitor... for they were a part of him, reminders of his greatest failure. Rather, his eyes moved then to the other three, the three who had been so mightily quiet since they had entered, and the three of which one was surely the Traitor. He looked to Banus... Banus who savoured every single word she spoke with relish, Banus who seemed on the verge of acting without any granted permission, the rope coiled in his hand dangerously, undoubtedly reserved for Lucien. He shifted now and again with plain discomfort, his self-control at the breaking point... his features ravenous. At any time, he seemed at first glance the most likely to be guilty, and perhaps a great many others, had they been in Lucien's position, would have thought him to be the Traitor... but it was that same energy stirring in the Dunmer's exhilarated face that revealed everything there was to know about him. He was simple. No, Banus was not the Traitor... Banus was far too young, and far to eager... this was not the insane festering meticulousness that the Traitor had demonstrated throughout, that had overtaken the Traitors actions... this was unrestrained chaotic emotion at it's most volatile, an unrestrained individual who could scarcely be controlled or his mind disciplined for the cold necessity's of what needed to be done... Banus owed far more in manner to Arquen then to any calm. He was rabid, nearly foaming at the mouth and very nearly unthinking... not stupid, not at all, but one who allowed the darkest depths of his emotions to speak for him almost at all times. As alien as his mind was... his patterns were predictable... as it was to most serial killers.

There was no doubt to his loyalty.

Lucien looked on further to the left, to the boredly withdrawn tan faced Imperial at his side... and knew that this one was, in some regards, far more capable of treachery then Banus. Belisarius hid himself very well, anything he felt within, through a mask of mildness, of boredom... yet that very boredom could have actually been the real thing... difficult as it was to believe. Perhaps this Imperial was simply hiding everything he felt... perhaps not, this one took far longer to scrutinize then Banus. Yet, although not outwardly displaying emotion and holding a calm that Arquen and Banus did not... there was simply too _much_ calm to the man... it was as overwhelming as Banus's emotions. There was no satisfaction, no little shade of anything that demonstrated any real pleasure with the looming attack upon Lucien... were this the one who wished them all dead, there would be some spark of the madness that had driven him to burn his fellow Brothers and Sisters one by one... for madness could never truly be veiled to Lucien any longer with the length of time, the decades, he had spent huddled so closely around it at all sides, and himself having been threatened by it before he learned control. No, Belisarius was the most stable and sane of the newly arrived gathering at Applewatch, his administration duties had surely seen to that, the constant contact with others abroad, the self-discipline in maintaining the connection and contact between the Family's... it would have given him purpose... a purpose not to draw his blade, but the mightiness of his quill and accomplish what few others could. He held in him a great deal of knowledge, knowledge that went above and beyond contracts, and knowledge of the same vein Vicente and himself had tapped. While perhaps he had missed his old times, and looked forward to the opportunity of favouring his blade to the quill this one time, he was not as Ungolim had been... he was not _desperate _or_ dependent _on these ways, the taking of lives. There was something far more to this man.

To him, it was mere fragment of nostalgia and excitement, the hope for excitement at least and nothing more. Once done here, he would perhaps return to his writings with ease, seeing Lucien's demise as a simple break in his busy schedule... but he would not dwell upon it.

Lucien Lachance closed his eyes then, amidst Arquen's furious condemnations, and then, at last when they opened, they did so after drifting leisurely upon the one he had delivered to the Black Hand. Mathieu gazed back at him, nearly as expressionlessly as he, Lucien, so often was capable of... his pale, line covered face, almost truly older than Lucien's own. The stresses and anxiety's of his life had worn down his features, had aged him terribly, to the point Lucien was certain that grey had started to settle its self comfortably into the young man's once black hair. The quiet yet ambitious and amiable young man who had spent so much time in the Cheydinhal Family, seemingly happy and contented amongst them, seen often by his brothers and sisters in the close company of Maria, a man Lucien had not laid eyes upon in over a year, was truly dead and gone. The hollow eyes... however, gave it all away to Lucien now, for they alone were alive, dark brown and pitiless, like the edge of an abyss, so very cold as they were lovely. It came to him all at once then, as though a cork had been popped out from within the former Speaker's very soul.

Lucien's mind's eye revolved backwards then like a globe, backwards across the days, weeks, months, years and decades, down through the history he had written in blood, a variety of dark pleasures he had partaken in, the murders of the rich, the famous, the reviled, the unknown and the known all in the Parents names, and at last it settled upon a distant cold evening in which the snow descended freely from the skies, none too different from the one they each stood in the present. A slow, collected smile creased Lucien's thin lips as Mathieu betrayed himself now, seeing the knowledge and recollection gazing back courtesy of the one who had taken his mind, and for an infinitesimal moment that none but Lucien saw, a shading of helpless pitiful fear passed like a shadow, stirred behind the Breton Speaker's eyes. He was, if only for that instant, once again a boy who watched helplessly as a hooded, cloaked man tapped a glinting blade at his bedside window, smiling the very same smile.

Then, it was gone, and the madness returned, the madness that Lucien himself had created, the madness that had seen to the deaths of a great many Brothers and Sisters that Lucien loved and the twisting and violation of the Dark Brotherhood into the ruined shape it now lay in. In spite of seeing it before him... the would be destroyer of all that he loved... the one who had sought to destroy his world before destroying him, it was in realizing his own responsibility that he understood another thing... just how successful he had been. To have gone from a frightened little boy, to a man insane with grief who had, through sheer determination, single-handedly nearly brought the Dark Brotherhood to its knees, where one like Greywyn, having an army of loyal brothers, had not been able to... there was no denying how... admirably, Mathieu had performed under the circumstances... a truly worthy opponent. He had been surrounded from day one, on all sides by enemy's, Brothers, Sisters and the Father and Mother watching over them... but he had slipped through the raindrops... lived the life of those he hated the most, and had ascended to the Black Hand, and brought ruin to them all... and only now seeing him face to face at the end did his cover slip in Lucien's presence. His insanity had proven to be a blessing in his goal as much as a hindrance... for had not they already another Speaker amongst the insane in that very room as well? Insanity had not been questioned throughout the history of the Dark Brotherhood, in spite of how many times it had threatened them... it was a lesson they had never learned... and such was the same with him. The fact he had seen it all through... every step of the way, and hadn't given up... was a testament to the vastness of his willpower, his resolve. The sheer unimaginable difficulty of infiltration was not lost on Lucien... living day by day, trying not to be found out... there was a great deal of skill in him, as Lucien had always known... of potential... but potential for what? It was clear now... and in spite of it all... he was to be commended for his courage. It was not every day someone could challenge him... and Mathieu had done far more than that. Lucien chuckled quietly to the boy, forcing Arquen to pause in the midst of her fury, wide eyed with shock. Banus's grin faded, if only for an instant, and even Belisarius looked affected in his unusual reverie by what seemed to these three a verbal confession of guilt. Mathieu alone did not move a muscle or change in any way that unblinking, cold face as Lucien's low, frigid laughter subsided, never to be knowing such laughter was complimentary, as opposed to mocking.

_Well done, my child... well done._ _You did but what I myself would have, in your place._

"Now... you _laugh_ at me? At _us_? You _laugh_ at the Family you have _murdered_?", Arquen breathed disbelievingly, the rage within only furthering, not realizing Lucien's eyes were reserved for Mathieu and Mathieu alone now. She took a deeper, steadying breath as her hunger quickened, forcing herself to remain as calm as was possible, reaching the limits of her restraints, her blood haze threatening to consume her in its entirety. "You _laugh_ at my Mother and Father, and you mock them with your _heretical_ tongue? Damn you Lachance. I... I don't know why... or how They ever let you live amongst us, ascending to the Black Hand... allowed you to live among us with your polluting presence for so long and let you give orders... not striking you down from the start... but...- no... that's not Their fault, or mine... or any of ours... it is you. It has always been _you_. If you laugh one more time, if you mock Them... I shall forgo these pleasant formality's and skip to the first order of business... the severance of that insolent flapping voice. You _would _laugh, wouldn't you? Murdering the Vampire who all but brought you up, without so much as a second thought... people who thought you were their friend... their father... their Speaker..."

In another time this damning pronouncement would have hit Lucien like the blow of a hammer, but for now he paid no further attention to the High Elf, whom glanced sideways to the excited Dunmer, and the bored again Imperial. She inclined her head to them a single time, and the pair followed a pre-established order. Slowly, the two separated, one circling Lucien's right hand side, the other his left, until the pair stood behind him on the stone floor, while Lucien's lover, and the one he had created, stood together in front of him, united in their shared hatred of him. Still, there was no action upon any of their parts, at least not yet. He could hear the Dunmer breathing more heavily behind him, but he did not turn... he had let them move to said positions. _They_ were of no concern... his duty lay not in either of them, nor in Arquen who had picked up, with difficulty, again the reigns of her duty as Speaker, to arrange the Judgement prepared to be cast over his head. No, his duty lay before him as clearly as night and day, whether it meant his own death or not, whether or not he chose to send the three not guilty, including the one he cared most for, to the Void with him. Mathieu _was_ his duty now. He had always been his duty. He had given the boy the means and the motivation to come this far... and so long as he continued to draw breath, the Brotherhood would never truly be pure again. Yes, he had given the boy the tools and skills to have reduced Lucien to this position, and in many regards, had taught the boy more than his own nearly equally disturbed father, a father now having long festered in the Void and the ground for his sins, then the father had ever feared he would learn. In a way... he _was _the boy's father, not the coward who hadn't the courage to see through his wife's murder, delegating it to others so as to leave his trembling hands seemingly clean. The cold, morbid poignancy to it all was truly enriching and beautiful to Lucien, and in that room, only they two now mattered. He had created the monster that was Mathieu... and it was now as surely his destiny to end him.

"-... The unnecessary Purification of the Cheydinhal Family, a family that deserved a better Speaker then the treacherous coward it was stuck with. Vicente Valtieri, Ocheeva, Teinaava, Telaendril, Mraaj Dar, Gogron Gro Bolmog and Antoinetta Marie, were deceived and slaughtered in their own home on account of the traces of rot this vermin had left behind at the Sanctuary, traces discovered only due to the investigation of his own Silencer... my own Silencer, each of these great individuals, Blanchard and Shaleez, murdered by the Traitor Lachance...

But something happened then, that had never occurred at any point in Lucien's entire life, and something he had never entertained as possible even for a moment. It came to him the instant the impulse formed it's self to grasp the handle of his silvered sword from its belt, and to plunge it into the pit of the muddy eyed boy's stomach. It was as if each of his senses dimmed to accommodate the far greater presence of Another that had flitted into his own mind, one he had not felt, alien... yet one somehow distantly familiar, this familiarity having mutated into a far greater form and intelligence, and it gave him pause in the midst of his intent to kill for the second time in his life, his hand lowering down slowly, back to his side. He was no longer alone. It was a Darkness that joined him, true nocturnal Darkness the likes of which even Lucien himself had not believed possible, and Arquen, to say nothing of her words, seemed to dim into insignificant syllables, as though the flickering light of the fireplace barely touched her any longer. Her mouth moved, yet everything became slower and less fluid-like around him as he stood motionless and as unblinking as Mathieu himself. The hateful words petered out, no more than a distant ring and a hum that he could decipher now and again, and they continued, yet not upon the forefront of his broadened mind. Mathieu alone stood in the centre of his vision, undimmed or marred by the descending presence that enveloped Lucien, spreading out within his body, mind and senses as though wrapping him in a lovers embrace that went above and beyond even the physical and emotional, but penetrating the confines of his very soul with their unrivalled beauty.

The entire room faded to a degree, yet the pure snow and moonlight descending beyond Arquen remained illuminated and ghostly. A low, almost sensual as though speaking to a lover, yet clearly ancient woman's whisper reverberated from somewhere, some unknown depth, within some layer of either his mind, soul or both, freezing his blood as nothing ever had before, addressing him tenderly. Although he had felt a presence before each looming kill... a presence that he could only attribute to Them, they had been pale shadows compared to the here and now... and he knew then the lesson that Ungolim and the past Listener's had already known so well; what it was to truly be at Her mercy. Helpless before Her unholy aura and beauty.

"_Sweet child, Sweet child... we are... so very proud of you... Lucien. So very proud indeed. We have been watching... waiting, for you to reach this point... to stand at the crossroads of your own particular destiny, when realization would come to you, when the time would come to draw your blade, and to correct that which you have loosed_."

The urge to speak aloud came to Lucien momentarily... to form his empty reply... but it occurred automatically, instinctively, that not a one of them was aware of what _he_ was... they were in another world of rage and vengeance, he in one of calm with Her... and he wished not to shatter the barrier between them and unite them... unless She so commanded it. So, he spoke as he had always spoken to Her in the past... in silence... his voice hesitant... a long life of achievement, learned skills, history and authority rendered mute and infinitesimal as _he _himself was rendered an infant presented before Her all-consuming greatness.

_...Mother..._

The voice in his ear and his deepest dreams laughed tantalizingly at his numbed state, yet not unkindly so, the laugh as much a whisper as her very words... She was pleased by how quickly he adjusted to Her presence with the suddenness She had arrived with, how readily he had accepted and known who She was the moment She had entered.

_"Yes, my child... yes. It is I, your ears do not deceive you. I come to you now as I never have any save the Listener, and I do so not through my earthly remains, but through the Will of Sithis. I come for Him to bring you His word directly... and my own, for in your mortal form, you can hear only His echo... but not His direct wishes. You have struggled in the midst of this infection of our Dark Family's purity... and you have done so from the start, submerging yourself into it's every detail and trying to work out the truth that has been eluding you without giving up... without faltering... but it is time to stop now. It is time to let go, and to accept your fate, to understand your role in the Dread Father's prophecy. You need but listen to me now... for you have dictated my word now for so very long, and have done so with a faith, and an unceasing devotion to We who have sired you into Darkness. _"

_Stop? I... I cannot stop, Mother... I cannot... I have to... have to save them all. I have to end this... to spare the Family's any further ruin and pain. To cleanse us of the taint of this... bastard son I have unleashed... I have offended you with. I have come this far, I am nearly there... and now I need to... You must let me-_

_"They will be saved, my child... they will be. The Prophecy only now draws to the end of its fruition... at last, after all this time of death... stability will resume. Yet... for you to truly understand what I speak of, I must return to the beginning... show you all that has occurred about you. Decades ago, the Dread __Father foresaw all of this unfolding precisely as it is now... but it was not a single event that would trigger His Prophecy... but two, one involving the child you now call your beloved Silencer, and the other involving yourself and the one who would so desperately see me destroyed, did he not already understand the impossibility of such a thing... were he capable of understanding. The two events were interconnected from the very start... and began with the birth of a single child, a child with an unrivalled heart of Darkness, who would achieve greatness, and a purity of spirit and resolve that would one day prove to save the Dark Brotherhood from imminent destruction, and bring about change... bring about lessons that will not go unheeded for quite some time to come. Sithis watched over this child's growth protectively, witnessing the potential for future order first hand... as He does all His beloved children. Yet even this miraculous event could not develop properly as the Dread Father wished it to, were not there the opposing volatile force unleashed to one day spread necessary terror amongst the Dark Brotherhood it's self, for if this were not so, there could be no lesson to be learned... His word would pass by unheeded, as it had for too long. You each had to see the ever-present possibility of the ruin and the destruction of our ways first hand, to appreciate the scope of what was at stake... yet not through a usurpation, a seizing of power as Greywyn would have had it, were not he doomed to fail at your hands... but from a single victim of our own terrible cruelty."_

_"The Dread Father chose you personally, Lucien, amongst all others of the legions of Dark Children, to make his vision of the future a reality. You were right. We were with you, watching over you that night you flitted through the snow in the light of the moons, so truly the perfect ideal and embodiment of our ways, and forever to be uncorrupted by petty ignorance, despicable weakness, blinding insanity or rigid pride as the other four Fingers were, even in your youth. When you were young... you had sought out stability, self discipline and control as none of the others had been able to achieve... you became an immovable constant in an ever changing universe... you became the son we needed you to be. We were with you, as we have always been, from the moment you were born, to the moment our now shameful daughter first came to you in the night with an offer... and a smile... and beyond to the present we now speak in. Your terrorizing of the innocent child, your murdering of his mother, your ruining of his entire life as he hid trembling beneath her bed... every detail of it pleased our Dread Father, and while any could have simply murdered Mathieu's mother, you acted as an agent of terror through every moment of it, just as your Father expected of you. The moment you severed that woman's head... the moment it tumbled down over the side of the bed and peered into her son's eyes forevermore, you stripped all manner of sense from that boy's life... you became to him a monster of shadow and legend... and your role began, setting into motion the chain of events now unfolding."_

_"The years passed as the darkness festered within Mathieu's tortured soul, for from that very night he had sworn vengeance against myself and my child... you, not knowing yet who either of us was... he still knew he would find out. As the vengeance cultivated inside him, I watched you moving forward in life as he could never do, achieving the greatness you were destined for, your completed contracts still creating talk and misery as they will for all time, your travels, the love you held for your Brothers and Sisters, the personal guidance and teachings Vicente Valtieri... Speaker's Dieudonne and Arquen gave you respectively, and of course, your ascension. The ascension through the ranks that would bring you to me... for resting now upon the Black Hand as the greatest Talon in entire generations, and soon after as Speaker, when Valeria at last slipped from your arms into the Void, the next stage in Sithis's great plans for you was ready to commence. Mathieu of course eventually discovered his fathers treachery... his calling upon you, and before he breathed his final agonized breath at his son's now strong, capable hands, he surrendered your name. All through Mathieu's childhood, his teenage years, his hatred, his blinding incomparable hatred, had only grew as he bided his time, alone with his planning... and a Mother he had exhumed with his own hands. I watched him in that dark place, his fingers stirring through the dirt, breaking through layer after layer, gathering beneath his nails, until at last he had reached her, reunited again as Mother and Son, in the very cemetery his Father had found the means years prior to perform the Black Sacrament that called you to begin with... some things truly do run in the Family, it seems..."_

_"It was the murder of this broken father that satisfied me so... for I knew then it was time for you to go to him, to come face to face again with your creation, this time as Speaker and him to you, as a murderer. When first you introduced yourself to him, if only you had known what thoughts and kind of Darkness had swam through his mind... but vestiges of the boy he was clung to him, and he feared you as greatly as he hated you... you saw as much that night with ease, the deep potential in him within the Family, but you did not recognize him in the way he did you... for which he was both grateful and enraged. He would not strike out at you then, no matter how much he wished to, for he could not. You brought him to the Family of Cheydinhal, to your family, and he was welcomed as all have been; with open arms... yet you were absent in your duties so often from the Sanctuary in those days, you could not see or chart his entire development. While he held the dark heart required to perform contracts, it was both his obsession and the teachings of the Cheydinhal Family that at last gave him the means to realize his vision of revenge. He threw himself into his contracts with vigour, placing your face and mine on to every soul he sent screeching to the Void... all the while growing unsatisfied with these pale substitutes, yet driven to inflict as much pain as possible... he took his victims, be them Contracts or whoever else was unfortunate to have crossed his path, out into the woods of Cyrodiil, and he tortured them with a great many tools and means, killing them only when the thrill had faded, or he would knock them unconscious and take them back to Anvil, to where it had begun, and with each kill, he sought to honour his true mother, who lived on through him. His passion and his anger delved from his insanity, and it only intensified as time went on... yet it was the discipline he had learned from his Family members that kept him from giving himself away whenever you paid visit to the Sanctuary."_

_"I believe for the first time in his life, he considered letting go of his crusade for vengeance, and settling down amongst you all, and living again... for in addition to the guidance and understanding his dark impulses found amongst your children, Lucien, the knowledge of Vicente Valtieri as he gave you in your own time... it was the love of a beautiful young woman who tempted him into abandoning his life long obsession. He had not been loved prior to coming to the Cheydinhal Family since his mother's fate... and he had not expected what he found in their arms. Acceptance. Mathieu was truly filled with indecision for a matter of months as his relationship with Maria intensified... and for a moment... the scales nearly tipped in the family's balance... but that was not his destiny. Could not be. His mother still held a sway over him that the living could not as he fed his growing illusions... and in the end, it was she who won over your children. Mathieu had hoped to convince your child into joining him, in destroying the Dark Brotherhood from within... and his own turmoil slipped into her. He took her with him to Anvil... and had introduced what remained of his Mother to her, hoping they could start their own family when it was all over... and she saw then the depths and ravages of insanity in the young man she loved, his looming betrayal of the Tenet's, of Us... and of you. She wanted to tell you, Lucien... she nearly ventured to Fort Farraguton her own several times... she wanted to tell all of you so desperately that it gnawed away at her for nights, but could not bring herself to, in her love for him... she could not see him destroyed... yet she refused Mathieu and his plans for her, and left him. Whatever stability she had given to him broke in that instant, and would never mend again."_

_"We come now to what you do know, Lucien. The night she was to return from a contract, he ambushed her upon her route, and after speaking to her one final time... and declaring his eternal love, his regret for doing to her what he was... he killed her, not messily as he did the others. Perhaps it was that love she had bestowed upon him that made him show such a rare mercy, for he performed the first of his betrayals quickly and quietly, and he took her to the coast, far off track from the area you were to investigate soon after, and he cut her into pieces before burning each one by one, as he sometimes did to the others he would bring back to his Anvil home, and hurrying back to the Cheydinhal Sanctuary before suspicion could be arisen, making an excuse that satisfied all. He had secured the safety of his true aims by severing her life... and in so doing experienced the invigorating passion that his contracts could not provide, that night, the killing of one of my loyal children... the commencement of his plans... his vengeance, and he longed for more of them as the Cheydinhal Family descended into a depression... but had not the safe opportunity until, glimpsing his deep pain, and knowing his great aptitude for murder, you suggested him to the lone, childless Uvani in the hopes of helping them both with their respective problems."_

_"At last as a Silencer, he had the means to strike out at the other Sanctuary's, and to extend his reach... an entirely separate world was opened up before him then, for truly you know how much a Silencer must travel... as much as a Speaker, which provided to him his chances. As the murders spiralled through the Brotherhood, you performed your duties while simultaneously searching with Arquen for the one responsible. You brought the girl Antoinetta Marie at my word, found a great deal of love in her... and although the murders continued, and continued to alarm the Family... she brought back a calm amongst you each in the storm... as I knew she would. Time continued to pass as Mathieu degenerated very nearly out of his own control, the restraint that had been taught to him by your family fading. You were right about him when you spoke that evening at Ungolim's home of his insanity, his sloppiness... for little by little he ceased to care about which actions would give him away, until it was too late. Yet before he could murder Blanchard, Blanchard who, as it is with all the Silencers and their Speakers, was well acquainted with Mathieu his fellow Talon, before Blanchard could be murdered... the time had come for you to bring the one who will stop Mathieu and save the Brotherhood, the one who will inherit Ungolim's position at my side."_

_"Yes... you met the child Sithis foresaw, it was you who brought this gift back to your Family as you had Mathieu, and you watched as they have demonstrated the same dedication and ambition that you yourself have. This Silencer did, at your own behest, what no Dark Brother or Sister had performed in century's... a Purification, amongst the other trying tasks I delegated to this child, and now, even the Black Hand reels painfully backwards from the child's skills... and stands at the brink. This one who is to be Listener has cut a path through the old Black Hand, the very Fingers closest to you, that were foresaw to have one day required this terrible lesson... the three brothers and sister whose respective weaknesses have been demeaning our Dread Father's name... filling Him with displeasure, as you alone of the Hand have not been."_

Lucien breathed quietly as she fell silent, almost hesitantly as though the use of his lungs was entirely new to him, feeling still detached from his surroundings, from the four watching him, the blind four incapable of hearing and knowing what he did, and he steadied himself as the Mothers embrace again held him tightly close, floating upon an entirely separate realm with him. For the first time in his life, he truly felt like a miniscule speck in the vastness of the sprawling universe, a universe he had long struggled to find his way through before She came to him through the Darkness, as he peered upon the wasted away boy his destiny had been intertwined with... yet although a speck, he knew, in a proximity with Her that he had shared with no other, that he was not being damned by the Parents... that this was simply the way it had to be, that his life had been unfolding for new, better things to come to the Brotherhood... things he could not have possibly began to foresee

"_Yes..._", she whispered with delight at his understanding, the quickness of his thought. "_Yes... you could not have, and this is not a damning of_ _you, truly even of any of you, the other Speakers and the Listener... this is a lesson that even Black Hands preceding your own have also required... it is a lesson, not a shunning of my love_. _It is not a matter of you, or any of you, having outlived your usefulness... it is simply how it must be... your time, your mortal destiny... draws to a close... with greater things __awaiting_".

_Ungolim... J'Ghasta and Uvani... my brothers..._

_"Decadent! Useless! Beautiful and great in their own regards, successes in times passed... yet failures in this time, ultimately. They each started so perfectly, intuned with their required roles, and for the longest of times, when counterbalanced and led properly by my Listener preceding Ungolim, dearest Fargo... provided breathtaking service on behalf of myself and the Dread Father... the swiftness with which you all ended Greywyn's plot... yet invariably, as it was supposed to be, they each succumb slowly to their respective flaws after your own Black Hand formed. Ungolim truly was the worst of these examples, and provided to the others, save Arquen until only now, the means and the atmosphere for their own flaws to thrive and to detract from the carrying forth of Sithis's will! When you came to me that night you all met... you knew Ungolim as well as I did. You knew his weakness... his thriving for the old responsibility's, his inability to accept the passing of time that changes all things... his love for you was as great as his love for me... but this is not why he was weak. I did not misgive his love for you all... it was, truthfully, one of his better shades even as he grew progressively worse. Ungolim could not handle the loss of passion that had been on his own terms when he had taken contracts and gathered children as you each had... on the outside, to the other four, he took his new role graciously, happily... but within, I knew from the moment he inherited Listener Fargo's role, what he really felt, the mourning of his old life that never truly went away, for as time went along, it became steadily worse, and eventually, noticeable to you all in his management of my affairs, the management of the Black Hand. He made mistakes... mistakes that he never should have brought, which in turn, made things worse than otherwise they would have been."_

_"He was as frightened of you as much as he loved you... and insecure in the reasons I had chosen him to become Listener... believing your commanding personality, your presence, and reputation entirely greater than his own, and believing it, made it a reality, instead of realizing that you were two entirely separate children of mine, with separate tasks and therefore separate quality's... he thought himself still a Speaker. When it was your turn to speak for me... in his fear of you, of incurring your misgivings of his leadership, and in his desperation of this, his fear of wronging you, he gradually passed along a great many tasks to Uvani, rather than risk, in his eyes, doing this of you, of running you ragged. By now, in turn, it was time for Uvani's greatest flaw to take a stand, Uvani's pride you each knew so well, a pride that came with an equal anger. Uvani's great flaw was that in spite of his love for you each, his love for me, he saw a weakness in the demonstration of this that not even your own Mraaj Dar did. He knew that although love had brought the Family's together, had given him everything he deserved, that it was to be treated with a distance, lest that very love be taken advantage of and used against him. Long did you all try to break him of this... to such little avail"._

_"Alas... you can imagine what he felt as his Brother sent him more and more work, tasks that kept him from maintaining any genuine connection to his Leyawiin Family, and as such, only surmounting his bitterness and his belief in distance, in the hopes of reconciling himself for the magnitude of his own loneliness... and it was a great many of these tasks he would hand along to Mathieu, and in turn, giving him unknowingly the destinations and information he required to continue ever further in his treachery. Uvani was not weak as Ungolim was with his loneliness... but he was infinity more embittered and volatile by it... when he lost his Silencer, it roughened him, little by little... he blamed himself for what happened to that poor girl so long ago... and never forgave himself... it's why he put off finding another Talon for so long you had to step in. Giving Mathieu to him as a replacement may not have helped the Brotherhood, it has to be said... but it did more for him then you would think. Though he never admitted it at the time or any other... he loved you all the more for it... the care you had for him_ _regardless of his anger... he could not daunt you. Then there was J'Ghasta... the next to become my Listener, as chosen by Ungolim out of feelings of nepotism and a wish not to have you in the highest position of power... yet not even this was enough to distill where he went wrong, an error he only realized towards the end, when it was too late. Far too late. Truly, he was the most ignorant of my children... even in his position, as he would be if he had ever reached the next that loomed in his future. His ignorance was such that he blindly followed the Listener without any semblance of free will, not even enough to recognize the failures of Ungolim as you and Arquen have. He believed that, as next in line to hear my words, he model himself after the one preceding him, the one he had originally been the Talon of... instead of shaping himself into his own individual with the potential he had already. He was not always that way, as you are already well aware... but in the end, his own selfish affairs were of more important than his free thought, neglecting purposefully the very Family that loved him, the Sanctuary he presided over, and devoting every bit of his time not performing tasks to himself, into shaping his own gratuitous skills ever further. He made no effort until there was no time left to better himself through a deeper connection to his own children, the children he had brought to his Sanctuary at my word... and subsequently abandoned, not caring enough to truly get to know them better, as human beings and Family, not mere subordinates"._

_"When you called Uvani upon his harsh tongue that night, when you called them each out upon their collective foolishness... I all but wept with joy, my child... for you knew what needed to be said... you deciphered my word without even hearing my voice. You brought to them the harshness and importance of reality, rather than the illusions they, like Mathieu, suspended about themselves so freely and eagerly, so as to create their own false lying worlds. On that very night you showed them what needed to be done... as you had been trying for so long before it. You demonstrated a burden that not one of them could have carried as well as you did... you, who very nearly was alone in your pursuit of Mathieu while the others languished in decadence, was given the task of murdering your Family, for you alone could see it through. They each viewed you as being in my favour for many years since you arrived... and I needed to outright show to them that all my beloved children were supposed to be on an equal scale of love, something they did not believe... something they were incapable of grasping. It should not have ever had to be so, that I favoured you above them... but it happened, and it happened because they could not achieve mortal completion, a reconciliation of all their sides and aspects, through knowledge as you did. It was not in their characters to do so... hence the necessity of the lessons. No... they branched off into their own selfish ways instead, and they paid the ultimate price for it."_

_"Do not suffer them so, my child... I loved them dearly, I love them still and always with all my heart, and they serve for all eternity with Him... but their fates were, regrettably, necessary. They rest now in the Void I delivered them to, and know now the full extent of their transgressions... and they are already absolved... for they too held their own important roles in this. They did what they had been supposed to"._

Lucien closed his eyes, and simply considered it all, the weight of Her words settling into his understanding... yet his mind was at a stand still, resolved, felt truly at peace in spite of his seemingly distant surroundings, and he turned his gaze away from the one he created, and to the being of chaos that gave him this feeling of peace just as the Mother did. Mathieu faded partially into darkness as his full attention, as their full attention, moved as one to Arquen, Arquen's hate consumed, sickly face, her jagged teeth grinding as her condemnations intensified in a spitting tandem with her red haze, with her hunger, every bit of the passion he knew being brought to her forefront. Sensing with ease his desire for knowledge, to understand her part in the situation they were each entrenched into, the Mother addressed this as She had the others, Her whispery voice soothing and gentle as She spoke of the other he loved, regardless of Her own misgivings.

_"Arquen is, in the simplest of terms, a hedonist. Your sister is a bottomless well of desires that can not be filled for any real amount of time, that can not be truly sated... she wears death upon her as a cloak, and brings it to those she hates, and those she loves equally... this has always been... and she loves you more than anything in the world, more than anything she has ever loved, including myself and the Dread Father. She is insane, truly and perfectly insane, and is scarcely different in this regard from the one standing now beside her... the difference being that I am her Mother, and that her loyalty is to me. Her stability extends only to the point that she can operate as a Speaker, and only then, because you and her victims have given her this shred of stability. Insanity... is a truly beautiful extension of Sithis's divine grace... and Arquen is the perfect personification of His chaotic and masochistic nature... the beauty of perversity. A world turned upside down. It has been in her nature to destroy whatever crosses her path, and to take the pain inflicted unto her, and turn it into a dark pleasure, as much a pleasure to take as it is to give it. It is this that has made her your lover, and you hers. She has seen in you, always, the purity of everything Sithis stands for, just as you have in her. This incalculable beauty has now consumed this Altmer to the point that she has not been capable of performing her full duty any longer, that this insanity she has coveted has enveloped her to the point that, in her uncontrollable emotional state, despite her wishes for the contrary, she too threatens the Dark Brotherhood, for not even you can bring her reason any more, now that her mind had been made in regards to this situation. The obvious truth lies before her, and she has deluded herself. She turns her head and looks away. Yet... she holds in her a purpose, a purpose that is apart of the Dread Father's unholy vision."_

_"She will come to my crypt, and will do so with your Silencer, seeking my guidance and to anoint a new Listener, and in the process, lead Mathieu to me. She will, for the first time, hear my voice... and my displeasure with her. The foundations of her entire world will crumble, and she will be forced to begin her life anew without the old Black Hand, as the new Speaker for the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. Everything she has done to this point shall be undone... she will undergo a transformation process as she has never done before, to say nothing of her pain... she will learn... at long last... but she will not be destroyed, no, nor cast yet into the Void. She will, for the first time in her existence, feel remorse, for her actions here on this night, and this pain, this guilt will follow her from here forward. I spare her life alone of the Black Hand for many reasons... both pragmatic and very much the opposite. Arquen will serve as a living reminder to the new, greater Brotherhood your Silencer, Listener, shall forge, the folly's of earning Sithis's displeasure... of succumbing to ignorance and allowing it to override duty, she will carry a burden for the remainder of her life, the likes of which you carried as the Purification loomed. I spare her because in spite of everything, in spite of her own transgressions, she, like you, sought actively to save the Brotherhood from the beginning... and will help the new Listener by offering the guidance of her many years experience. Yet... I believe the single most important reason I spare her life, is not merely to become a reminder of Our displeasure... but because to raise my hand against her, I would be doing the same to you, my beloved child."_

_"We heard her prayers for so very long... her wishes for her body to stop failing her as it has... watched the effect it had over her insanity... and have at last answered them... but for your sake, and not her own. Your seed grows now in her womb, Lucien, and in her desperation for the resolution of Mathieu's treachery, and her belief in her incapability, the knowledge of this has, momentarily at least, evaded her. You have spoken of your wish to leave behind a legacy in the form of the Cheydinhal Family's story never being forgotten by the other Family's... you will have this legacy, and something more."_

Lucien studied more closely the sickened, drawn pale gold face, alive only with rage... and the new-found almost startling knowledge of her true condition did not change his calm, the calm the Mother bestowed upon him, he accepted the implications of it... but there was simply nothing to be done. The Mother, not wishing to strike at him, would allow her to live for his sake... but now his love for Arquen, as well as a legacy he had not expected, a legacy that would never know him as a person, for whom he could never be a father, were joined as one... and he knew then that he could not raise his blade to her, regardless of what she did to him in her misunderstanding. In her insanity. He could never bring harm to her... any more than he could to the child he would never see while he lived. His attention moved on again, yet his eyes did not turn to them as he listened to Banus's excited breaths, the anticipation in the Dunmer by now very nearly unbearable, and the silence of Belisarius. She answered his silent query.

_"They will die together in my crypt... the final victim's of this treachery, with the traitor, and while their souls will go to the Void, their bodies shall remain with me, to keep my own remains, and those of my other children, company... including Mathieu. I will keep him close to me, as a reminder of the extremes that were necessary to chart the future of the Brotherhood in the right direction. And in the hopes it should never again prove so necessary. A reminder of what may become of those children Our own have wronged. We create our own enemy's as surely as we do our loved one's, Lucien... that is simply how it must always be. They mustn't truly be hated, or even reviled... but looked upon as being that which they are: reflections"._

He understood this now in a way more clear then he had already... and his attention shifted back to the one before him, the aged young man who had sought him out for so long... and very nearly had now what he wanted. The distant urge remained in Lucien to finish Mathieu... but had the somehow calming understanding of what the Night Mother now required of him to bring this time in the Dark Brotherhood to a close... and She confirmed it indefinitely, holding in it for the first time since She had come to him, very real syllables of sorrow and regret.

_"Lucien... you have carried many burdens in my name, and for so very long... in a way few ever have. It pains me to have to ask of you this final one, to make the prophecy complete... to bring Mathieu and your protegé to my crypt, and to bring this time, at last to its conclusion... yet I do so knowing only you are capable of this terrible thing. My child... what I ask will not be easy for one of your personality, to let go, and to accept, where you have always been one of actions... but this is an action... it is, and perhaps will become your greatest perceived. When it is time... you must not raise your blade to any of them. You must accept what they will do, and permit them to do so. You must now complete your destiny, and come at once to the Void where all before you have gone... and to gaze unto Sithis through your own eyes. This is not the end of you, Lucien... not in the slightest... but the start of your new, infinitely greater existence. Your name shall become legend through the Dark Brotherhood for all eternity, and you will be remembered as being that which you are and always have been: my son. When you start anew... you will do so with a connection to Him that will be as you have never known it. You will perform His will in whichever form it takes, flitting between the realms like myself... there is infinitley more out there then you have ever seen or done... things only We can show you, through the power of the Void... and I will say this to you now while your body still draws breath so you might know your future importance. Two century's from now, as you have been your Silencer in this time, you will guide another very great individual that will also come to be Listener, in another trying time in the land to the North... and in doing so, will again save the foundations of a threatened Dark Brotherhood. Sithis would have no other of his servants perform this duty".  
><em>  
>Lucien peered into those empty, blank eyes, and felt not a trace of fear as the Mother cradled him closer to Her breast, whispering to him the exact nature of his destiny... and the one awaiting.<p>

_"I will stay with you throughout, Lucien... you will not be released from my arms until the final moment, when the Dread Father takes your hand from mine"_, She whispered assuredly, with every trace of the tenderness and unholy love She held for him. _"... yet I will not take away your pain... it is in my power to do so... but I mustn't. I am sorry. You must feel every moment of it... must feel the death of your body as all others before you have, and every bit of the pain these misguided children, and this one we have wronged, bring to you. That is your burden. It is a final task, my child... a final earthly duty, just as it will be for your Silencer to avenge your departure from this world, and restore order. You know already what they will do to you... what Arquen shall do in her insanity... she will loose unto you every ounce of the hatred and terrible hunger she holds, that has festered as greatly as the feelings in this boy... and you will sate her... just as your death shall alter her forever. This is how it must be... my child... and how it shall be. I love you, Lucien... you have honoured me now as no other has... and you go to your final reward."  
><em>  
>With these emotional words, the Night Mother remained within him, yet returned his surroundings to what they had been... and the light, the clarity, returned with each of his perceptions, and he stood truly again within Applewatch, feeling Her loving embrace as Arquen at last finished up her condemnations, chest heaving more painfully.<p>

"... I now put it to the other Fingers of the Black Hand, to each come forward with their verdict as I have, so we can finish this thing once and for all", Arquen breathed lividly, looking painfully beyond Lucien and to the other Fingers standing behind him. "Belisarius Arius? What is your verdict in this situation?"

"Guilty", A calm voice answered slowly and simply, holding almost the same placid boredom as his manner.

"Banus Alor?"

"Guilty!", the excited Dunmer declared, all but shouting the word in his jovial pleasure, uttering a demented laugh. "Let's get on with it already! He's not going to kill himself! If he were, he'd have done so already before we even got here! Fellow must be a glutton for pain!"

"He won't be for long, Banus... I assure you, he'll scream... they _all _scream".

Her unreasoning, mad eyes lingered on the motionless Lucien for a moment as she spoke this belief... and Arquen turned then, to the far shorter young man at her side, favouring him a motherly smile as he himself gazed fixedly ahead unto Lucien, not returning her stare.

"Mathieu Bellamont?", She asked at last of the once innocent boy entombed within the confines now of his shattered mind. "What is your will, dear?"

A second ticked by in which the Boy and the Assassin shared an eternity, each submerged in a respective darkness, the darkness that was their separate mothers, and he spoke, his voice no longer a high, frightened pitch that had desperately sought and failed to convince his mother of the monster lurking at his bedside window.

"_Guilty_", was his only quiet word, and he spoke nothing more.

"Then holding the power of the senior Speaker here, I hereby formally declare Lucien Lachance guilty of the Dark Brotherhood's treachery", Arquen continued with a deep breath of a thousand emotions, and she turned her damning gaze to Lucien, truly an entirely separate entity from the Elf he knew. Had known. "... the sentence? _Death_. I will, however, carry on a Black Hand tradition by granting one final merciful formality of the Black Hand, as _we_ have seen it extended before. Lachance? Have you anything further you wish to say? To confess before the Mother you have wronged?"

Behind him, Banus Alor drew in a constricted, irritated breath of impatience, shifting again back and forth and muttering something hushed and negative to Belisarius, who immediately shushed him back, only to each receive a piercing stare from Arquen. He was longing to get on with it... but rather predictably succumb to the terrible look etched upon her face and didn't argue his point. Lucien peered back into Arquen's eyes, and studied her perhaps more closely than ever he had before, each beat of his heart bringing him to his final one. He knew her intent, even in the midst of her pain, of her belief that he was guilty. Lucien hadn't known the innermost thoughts of Listener Fargo at the time... but somehow felt this wasn't the same formality that had been given to Greywyn... not at all. After they had questioned him, the granted formality to speak freely had been more a toying with the one who had been their prey... there had been no absolvement possible for Greywyn... he was merely an example they had made. Arquen had felt nothing short of satisfaction prior to and after doing what she had to him... here in the present... she was conflicted, for the first time in her life... conflicted by a shade of grey doubt her rage was desperately drowning out. This was something entirely else altogether. Now that it was _she_ passing the Judgement of the Black Hand, and passing it over _him_, she genuinely sought to give him a final chance to absolve himself before the Parents, out of her distraught love of him... and he loved her more than ever for it. To show such a mercy to him was one she had never bestowed upon another, and in her own eyes, she felt she was putting herself on the line as a heretic before the Parents by even extending it, her guilt in this regard palpable even as she covered it up on the surface.

"No confessions, no, dearest sister", Lucien answered quietly, shaking his hooded head slowly. "I am _not_ Greywyn Blenwyth, coming to terms with his own guilt only at the end. I have merely some words... words I hope you won't take for granted, or forget... as there is no scribe present for this Judgement... or at least no ink and paper for him".

"Spit them out then, Lachance!", Arquen hissed as Lucien respectfully nodded to the subdued Belisarius, stricken by his continued formality and casting aside of her offer. "Delay your death as long as possible as we know you want; be the coward that you are!"

"Death holds no disquiet for me. I_ live_ for Sithis, and I _die_ for Sithis. The difference is trivial. _You_ each long to do what must be done... so I shall endeavour not to keep you from it any longer then _I_ must", The Imperial replied courteously, studying his lover, the bearer of his seed, and his destroyer. "I bear many weights, my love... that of every death that has occurred amongst our Family's in this time of treachery... regardless of it not having been by my hand directly... I have murdered those I love, those who trusted me... I have killed many faceless individuals and many that I've known. I am evil... we are _all_ necessary evil... there is _no_ grey shade in that regard... what I have done over the years speaks for it's self. Yet I am innocent of _what _you would have me be. The Void awaits each of us in this room... and our Dread Father longs to hold us... I am but the next to follow in His footsteps. I stand by my words regarding your insanity and it's nature... while there have been immense cruelty's placed upon you, you have also always freely fed it, your strength and weakness, and now it has bloated to the point that you cannot see reason peering back at you. Valeria was right about you. I was right about you. You are a Black Widow, my love... destroying and poisoning everything you touch... and that is why I am _forever _yours. Yet always know this when the burden of what you do here on this evening to me shifts it's self and settles its fullest weight upon you... when the nightmares come... when knowledge at last pierces the barriers you have erected fearfully; by the time we are reunited in the Void, Arquen... I shall have already forgiven you."

Lucien Lachance spoke not another word to mortals in his living form.

Each of the words flew about Arquen, infuriating her in every regard as her body swelled with undistilled revulsion, hatred, indignation and rage, threatening to explode in one volatile second. It was these words that would sent her into her frenzy. Her glove of glowing energy continued to tighten and swell, its deadly contents covering slowly the entirety of her hand, it's presence raising the hairs upon Lucien's arms. The miracle was how she managed to speak her own final contorted words to officially close the Judgement of the Black Hand.

"Forgive... Me? _Me_? You... me? If that is all... all you have to say, a rejection of absolvement... after everything you have done... after I... a declaration of your false innocence... a continued declaration... then all that needs to be said has already been. The Judgement of the Black Hand is hereby concluded... his soul shall be torn apart for all eternity in the Void... and the traitor Lucien Lachance shall taint us, _nevermore_."

As the hatred swirled amongst her, as surely as the cold emptiness of the Breton boy beside her did him, and the excitement of Banus behind him, Lucien drew instantaneously the silvered blade from his sheath at his side, and it hissed as it was released, the weapon that had claimed his mother glinting and dancing again one final time defiantly in the boy's now frightened eyes within his hood. Each of the Fingers raised their own weapons readily again higher instinctively, and the Dunmer laughed with unconstrained mirth.

"He truly believes he can take us all with that thing?", His voice echoed incredulously within Lucien's perceptions, laughing again mockingly. "All four of us?"

Yet Lucien's meaning in drawing his blade was clear only to himself, and his Mother... and time again seemed to drift in Her enclosing proximity, to slow its self. Lucien Lachance watched as the fingers of his gloved hand relinquished their hold upon the sword's handle, released it, and it fell down the decades it had taken lives until it clattered upon the stone surface of the floor uselessly, and in so doing, lowering his hands again to his side, accepting, and sealing his fate.

"Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Now he believes he can do it bare handed!", a buzzing voice shouted from behind him as Lucien focused his attention again to the High Elf and the Breton before himself. "Who does he think he is? J'Ghasta? Let us see just how well this parasite fares! His reputation is far too overblown, if this is the best he thinks he can do. This I _have _to see!".

_One final test... Silencer... , _Lucien conceded as the Black Hand swirled about him, tensing and preparing to rush him as one. There was a thud on the floor behind him as Banus dropped his coil of rope and readied himself, for _that_ would come last. _One final test for us each._

The images and memories of the faces he loved, the family he had brought together drifted to him then, peering back at him as one, each happy and free from the pain they had been inflicted, free from any one thing but joy, a joy not even the Purification could have eradicated He was bathed in the radiance of each of them... Vicente's welcome smirk... Gogron's wide grin... Antoinetta's glow... and he was not afraid. He scarcely heard Arquen's rage break like a single fine thread being severed, scarcely heard her screech the final order as his Mother's word came to him again, glowing with Her unholy, grateful love.

_"They are waiting for you... my Child of Darkness. They are each waiting to hold you once more, to be with you in the Void. You confided in me your lone fear when that evening was so very cruel to you... not knowing what they would feel at your deliverance. Nothing has changed in what they feel. They are your children... forevermore."_

_Then I am truly ready... my Mother._

Time and sensation returned again around him as Arquen rose her lightning encrusted hand and pointing a damning finger, released a deadly white bolt of the agonizing energy streaming at Lucien, beginning then the end. The pain enveloped and jolted through Lucien's entire body, and he writhed and twitched in anguish as his nerve endings screamed across his entire body and foul smelling smoke rose, his own charring flesh beneath the robes. Forcing himself to remain upright, he urged himself to keep from uttering a single sound as the scalding magic wrenched him through and through, threatening to send him face first to the floor, his swelling heart all but exploding in his ears. Before he had managed to even get part ways in recovering himself from the writhing agony, Arquen had withdrawn the focus of her electricity, and the entire Black Hand descended upon Lucien in a tidal wave, a typhoon of darkness from all sides, save the flashing of their blades glinting in the dancing light of the fireplace as he was unanimously and helplessly overtaken. Slashes ripped his robes open at all limbs, and jets of his own scarlet life force were loosed upon the stone floor or the fronts of their own robes and his, pooling and trickling together as he became a leaking, spouting fountain, and the searing pain followed in quick pursuit. All around him there were taunts, curses, jeers, laughter and shouts flitting into his ears as surely as their physical weapons... and over the harsh voices, there came others far more familiar from distant times passed, keeping him company as surely as the Mother to the end.

He seized on to them through the pain... but it was difficult to remember them all properly, under the excruciating circumstances... still...

He remembered a night... and a room.

_"You sleep comfortably for a murderer... Mister Lachance, I like that"_.  
><em><br>"You're no guard, or soldier... neither of them wear... that. Who are you, ma'am?"_

_"Manners from one so young... I like that even more, even if ma'am can make a lady feel old sometimes... but who I am is unimportant for the moment, my child... we'll get around to the proper introductions. I know what you did, so tell me this first... how did it feel? His blood beneath your feet... staining on your hands... forever unable to be washed away?"._

_"It... it felt good. Right. I don't want it washed away, what I did. I'm not sorry for it."_

_"I'd be disappointed if you were. At least I can see we are on the same... level. Well, not quite yet perhaps... but you can get there, given time. There is much I could teach you. As you have already accurately surmised... I am not a guard. I have come on behalf of my Parents, to give you an offer."_

_"Parents? Offer?"_

_"Yes... an offer from the Night Mother and Dread Father, in the hopes you will join our Family... I am a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood, it is my duty to bring... interesting, individuals like yourself into our ranks."_

_"The Dark Brotherhood... I see. It explains the attire, anyways"._

_"Don't sound so surprised. You look absolutely shocked. You know about us then already, I will be more accurate, and allow you to decide whether you will join us or not. You always have a choice. I am a Speaker for the Black Hand, one of four... and I oversee the Chorrol Sanctuary, as the others oversee their own... but if you take my offer, and are successful... you will report to Cheydinhal, not to my particular home, most unfortunately."_

_"A peculiar arrangement... if that's the case, why isn't that... Speaker, here instead of you?"_

_"She has about a million other tasks to race through at the moment... I was kind enough to fill in for her this evening. You'll meet her, perhaps... if you are capable, as I'm sure you are, of killing another to gain admittance into our Family... but her name is Valeria Dieudonne, you would be prudent not to forget it."_

_"You haven't asked me about myself... beyond how it felt to kill. You are... not at all curious? Wouldn't you want to know... to know everything there is to about a potential addition? It seems everyone I meet... wants to know something. Or... do you already know, as you do my name... your organization is usually well-informed, I hear"._

_"You hear correctly. It was all there in the letter I received... I admit... but I stopped reading after your name, location, who you killed and how."_

_"That... is unusual... why? Why deliberately overlook details, if they were all there to be known? Why limit yourself?"_

_"Who you were before now is not important... Lucien. If the day comes where you are able to tell me yourself... then I would prefer as much... but that would be then, when you choose to do so, not now. I do not need to know of your past life to see the potential in you now... I know how you killed that man... and that is enough to me for the moment. How one takes a life speaks volumes as to who and what they are... it is an intimate experience... and marks them forever. Your present and future interest me more right now then your past... the past has been done... but there is still far more to go right now... things not yet done... and if you accept my offer, I can deliver you into a world you would belong in far more than this rudimentary unsightly one, where you could see and do things you have only ever imagined and dreamed of."_

_"That is... an interesting way of seeing things... I'd not considered that. Your offer... tempts me. What is your name? You have me at a disadvantage here, Miss...-_

_"Now that's better, even better than Ma'am. It's Miss Arquen, to you, Mister Lachance."_

_"Just Arquen? Is that a first or a last name?"_

_"It's a name... some of us only require one. I may well tell you about it one day... perhaps share my secrets, should you interest me enough... you are not the only one with a past, my child"._

_"I'm sure. A pleasure to meet you"._

_"And to I... but now that we are formally introduced, perhaps it would be best to get down to business... the reason I am here... not to say you aren't entertaining enough to chat with... but it would be a good idea to give you your new target... should of course the temptation of my offer take a greater hold of you"._

_"Of course... please continue then Miss Arquen... you have my full attention"._

One of their blades soon found his leg, and submerged it's self into and through his knee, working its own enchantments through the tip and into the wound, and numbing the sensation across the entire span of his right leg, which promptly collapsed beneath him, and he fell back to the floor and lay before them, heart firing ever more convulsively in his mind as it had several times before in the span of his lifetime, quickening beyond even these familiar occasions, their boots kicking and pummeling him all over in-between slices and stabbings. He could feel his ribs cracking as gloved hands grasped and tore at his tattered robes while he was beaten and stabbed, the four perched over top of him as they stripped him of his hood, robe, which was already mending it's self as he was not, and his undergarments, leaving him naked upon the cold stone floor, laying in the palm of the clenching Black Hand and his own spreading pool of blood beneath him, and somewhere above, someone laughed a high chilling laugh. Lucien forced himself to watch their dizzying faces as the carnage continued... and he did not scream.

He remembered a home... a home far greater than any other he'd had. His home.  
><em><br>"Ah... but you must be the latest arrival to our humble family, dear Brother... a 'Lucien Lachance', unless I am sorely mistaken... I am pleased you have accepted our invitation. You appear to be lost though... do not worry about it, it happens to everyone who arrives at first, myself being no exception to the rule when it was my turn."_

_"I... yes sir... this is a pretty big place... I'm usually good with navigating in the unknown... but not here, I suppose. This is all... new... different... confusing. Speaker Arquen was right. There's much I don't yet know."_

_"Never fear Brother, all must begin somewhere... regardless of age... but kindly forgive my manners, my name is Vicente Valtieri... as the Master of this Sanctuary, I run things in the absence of the Speaker... and when she is busy... I take care of day-to-day operations... management, if you will. I must apologize profusely for not being here earlier to greet you at the Door... I was just finishing a report when I felt your presence... you arrived earlier then I was informed you would be... though that is the furthest thing from a problem. You travel quickly... a useful trait among so many others. I have been here for some time, as you can plainly see from my appearance... as I have been in existence for even longer."_

_"You are... the Vampire the others spoke of. I have never met one... the legends, it seems... aren't very accurate. You are no monster, sir."_

_"Ha ha ha... that is very kind, but don't be so quick to trust me, my child... some have made the fatal mistake, though to be sure, they were enemies... not family, as you are now. Still... take your time, get to know each of us, myself included... so you may form your own impressions. Never accept instantly the word of another as fact unless you truly trust them... but I sense something in you... you are very perceptive... it is a natural perception, unlike my own... but there is something else in there... far more, in you. Something I rarely ever...- forgive me, sometimes I speak too freely of what others are feeling, their base quality's and characteristics... I have only just introduced myself, it would not do to skip forward into such an intimate area of discussion... I would rather take my time with you... earn your trust and openness, not expect it all right away. It is good to meet you, child... and always wonderful to see another new face... if what Speaker Arquen has already told me of you is correct, and she is many things, yet the furthest thing from a liar... then you will fit in around here quite nicely."_

_"I hope so... I wish to learn more... about... well, everything really... I know only names and rumours of this... Family's, exploits... but nothing else behind any of them."_

_"Then allow me to fill in the blanks, my child... I'm surprised the others didn't get around to giving you the full tour... though most of them happen to be out and about in their own tasks this past while... for tonight, I am very glad this was the case, I love having the first claim upon meeting the latest of the family when it comes to showing them around. Let's see... you've seen the Black Door, of course..."_

_"Yes... rarely has an entrance spoken to me... much less asked questions, Mister Valtieri"._

_"I should hope so... hearing a door speak in any place but the Brotherhood would be a sure sign of... er, mental instability, no doubt. It is not the only of it's kind... there is one upon each Sanctuary in existence. I can tell you everything there is to know about our door, it's history... why... and how it speaks. You have seen the main hall... all that remains is the main quarters for brothers and sisters, where you will sleep, as well as the training room... I'll introduce you to everyone you have not yet, at least those within the Sanctuary at the moment, and show you further beyond the hall. Beyond the hall lay two private quarters... one belonging to our glorious Speaker Dieudonne, who will of course be very glad to meet you upon her return, and have a few things to show and teach you herself... and the second of which being my own, where we can end the tour, and begin answering your deeper questions you have been holding on to. I can put on some tea for you, should you wish... unfortunately of course I won't be able to join you in it. Really, this place isn't so big or daunting after a single tour of it... you'll see as much. When we are done for the evening, I have a little gift waiting for you... and it is my hope that in addition to our time together, it will make you feel right at home among us. You need but follow me, child, and I will provide you the answers you seek... and it will be my pleasure to do so. Please... just call me Vicente, instead of sir or Mister, those official titles... I am old enough to merit them, certainly... but there is little need for such formality's in this place... this is not a military, it is an open family."_

_"That is... generous of you, Vicente... I appreciate your kindness, and willingness... and desire to give me answers... in that case then, please call me Lucien if it is no matter... I am quite young, I know... and many would think first to call me a child... but I am not one... I am not like so many others of my age, whose behaviour demeans the image of our age group. I have not been a child for some time."_

_"Oh... I can see as much, Lucien... I have never underestimated the young, nor do I intend to start with you... not all are the same... or progress at the same rate... as for my desire to give answers... I always wish to give to those who take the time to ask. Come then, brother... enlightenment and the Cheydinhal Sanctuary awaits... oh, and by the way... welcome to the Family."_

_"Thank you, Vicente."_

He did not scream as his nose was shattered, nor as the golden face of his lover, now very much alive with colour, the paling hue of her sickness all but evaporated in her warming florid furor, lowered it's self downward between his legs as one of them held him to the floor. Nor did he struggle either as Arquen brought herself down to one knee, and rose the shining dagger before Lucien forebodingly, and brought it further and more slowly between his legs, working the blade against the pubic appendages that resided there, severing each amidst an unbearable burning that rendered the electrocution into nothingness, and upon their separation from his body, holding them up in one wet handful victoriously. Arquen was laughing as Mathieu Bellamont at her side plunged his enchanted blade into the pit of Lucien's stomach, the pain not numbing in the slightest, but intensifying into the burning of a frozen sun rolling throughout Lucien's system and his veins, swelling into his brain and expanding, robbing him of oxygen. He didn't scream as her jagged razor teeth grinned down at him like a Werewolf of the north and her eyes danced, nor as she rose her dripping glove higher to these teeth and began to freely consume what she believed rightfully hers.

He remembered a familiar shadowy place that was not yet then another of his homes... and he remembered a return.

_"Welcome back Lucien Lachance... at last you arrive, my Assassin... and stand again before me. It has been too long... far too long, since I or any of us have seen you... yet aside from your letters, and those of your impressed brothers and sisters up there, many a word of your grand exploit's in Skyrim have come back to us in Cyrodiil since you left."_

"_Speaker Dieudonne... I have missed you dearly... missed all of you... it is an honour to see you again...but how did you know where to reach me so quickly? I have not even returned to the Sanctuary yet... or spoken to any family members in the entire province... no other knows I... we, are back, yet"_

_"Did you think the one who sent you in the first place would not know how to find you? I've been in this position for some time now... and have my ways, Lucien... just as surely as you do. I wished to speak to you before the others got their chance... for there are a few things to discuss this evening... particularly, in regards to your place in the Brotherhood. In light of what has unfolded... things for you have changed"._

_"My place? ... regardless of my... successes, on behalf of our northern family's, my place is where it has always been... at your service, at the service of the Hand of Cyrodiil. That is why I chose to come back where so many of the other survivors did not. I have returned, for I am, at last, no longer needed in Skyrim"._

_"True... you raise good points... and indeed, you do remain at our service... yet what you have accomplished changes too much to turn a blind eye to... and I have been considering each success every time they reached my ears. Lucien... when you came before me, and heard what I needed of you... you accepted a great responsibility... in a way none of the others I met who ventured north did. You did not complain... you did not argue, and there was no reluctance to you. You went with all of the others to aid our Northern family's when they needed it most... regardless of the chance that you may never have returned to your true family... you obeyed my wish... you obeyed the call... and in the time you spent up there... have become even greater than you already are. You worked for years helping the family's regain stability... helped protect the assaulted Sanctuary's and ambushed Children... and performed tasks usually given to far more than one brother... and unlike most of the others the Hand sent... you are still alive. After everything... you have come back to us... you knew your whole duty remained in Cyrodiil, the land that shaped you first. It was particularly that last bit of business that made me see just what you have become... the single-handed slaying of a king... the ending of our war... and even long before then, it had been all too clear... how much more you deserve within the Brotherhood... and how little we have given you for your rendered service."_

_"My Speaker... it was not single-handedly done, as I am sure you know... J'Ghasta was there too, and invaluable... and as far as what you have given me... I require only to see my family again... I don't need to be rewarded for performing my duty... the Mother gave me everything... and years of time amongst you, the love of all of you... the least I could do was what you needed of me. It was not a burden... it was another great thing She has granted me... another experience to learn, in a land I always dreamed of visiting... as well as living in... and what I learned there... saw there, as I have learned and seen here... will stay with me to the end"._

_"You know the funny thing about that, Lucien? You genuinely believe that... that you don't need a reward. It is true, undoubtedly... you have never outright sought promotion... but just because you and J'Ghasta do not need something... do not need a reward, does not mean it will not happen. The Mother is pleased... so very pleased, in the words of Listener Fargo... and it is clear to us all that your current position's as Assassin's... are no longer enough. The matter is out of your modest hands, I am glad to say... for we already decided upon it... and still hold a commanding rank over you. There shall be a Ceremony a week from tonight... a gathering of the entire Black Hand and many other important Family dignitary's from abroad... and you two shall be the guests of honour. Listener Fargo will swear you in and give you your positions then... there are two openings within the Black Hand with each of your names upon them... two Fingers in need of a Talon. The details have already been ironed out and taken care of... the Ceremony shall only make it official."_  
><em><br>"You... feel I am ready to become a Silencer, Speaker Dieudonne?"_

_"Don't you? After everything you have accomplished... as one of only two to return from what had death written all over it... there should be not a doubt in your mind, as there is none in any of ours. As I have said... the matter is already set into stone... I hope you will not refuse to carry out the order of a Dark Brotherhood superior, for the first time in your life... it would be such a shame."_

_"It did not cross my mind for even a moment... my Speaker... if it is a service you wish of me, the role of Silencer... it shall be done"._

_"Good... I figured as much... although I would very much like to keep you here in the Fort, and discuss things in further detail... I know of many others who are desperate to see you again in the Sanctuary... as well as other places, of course. It would be rude of me to deprive them of the opportunity to do so this evening... I ask that you return to them at once... and take this whole week for yourself... new, great contracts will come after the Ceremony... but until then, reacquaint yourself with Cyrodiil... won't you?"_

_"I shall, Speaker... thank you... but there is one thing I feel I must ask ahead of time, before I go... if you will allow me to do so."_

_"You may ask anything of me, Lucien... you know that. You have earned far more than a right to ask questions... that right was yours from day one"._

_"Very well... I wish to know... upon whose Finger, shall I rest... as a Talon? I admit... I have not kept up to date on the statuses of the other Talons... but if there is a position for both J'Ghasta and myself, surely then two of them have fallen recently... who specifically will I serve?"_

_"You are correct... over this year, the Hand has met with tragedy... two of our finest Talon's meeting death during their contracts... Speaker Uvani still retains a Silencer... as well as myself... though a new one then when last you were here. It seemed clear to both myself, and Speaker Arquen... as well as the others, of course, that you would serve... ah... best, as her own Talon... and for J'Ghasta to take the role of Speaker Ungolim's. I believed... very much so... that you would have no complaints for this particular... arrangement... am I incorrect?"_

_"...none, Speaker Dieudonne... and thank you"._

_"I thought not... but we are getting ahead of ourselves, you are not yet a Silencer... but a returned Assassin and War Hero from a savage land... and I have taken enough of your time as it is... Sithis knows how much you'd probably wish to be... elsewhere, at the moment. I shall see you in the halls of Cheydinhal soon, and when the time comes, I will take you with me to the gathering place of the Hand... and before I forget... there is one final... detail. A token of gratitude... if you will. A present."_

_"A present? Speaker... I should think the honour of Silencer is enough for me... you did not need to-_

_"I felt it time to do so... there is a need for it... and perhaps one day you shall understand. I have been with her for so many years now... so long I sometimes forget she was passed on to me as well... and I have come to realize that it would only be proper to do the same to another she... and I, have deemed worthy of her presence. She has been a constant companion... a friend, and always a reminder, a first hand reminder... of the Master's power, the Father we all serve... but I feel it would be for the best if she belonged to another very great owner. She is waiting to see you again outside, Lucien... promise me you will take good care of her... and she shall do the same of you. Now, you had best be on your way... I expect no further argument in the matter. May the Dread Father always hold you close, and protect you for all time... and welcome home"._

_"... I Shall treat her as well as you have... I solemnly promise... and may the Night Mother always watch over you, great Speaker. Good evening"._

As Lucien's eyes rolled about in his head then amidst the dizzying faces, he caught Belisarius's originally seemingly permanently bored features suddenly alive and horror-stricken, wincing as he watched Arquen's feast unfolding, even as a violent adrenaline coursed through himself, even as he himself stabbed Lucien through the palm of his hand, the blade splitting through the back of the limb and scraping the stone of the floor. Banus even, the ravenous murderous little Dunmer who had all but attacked him from the moment he entered Applewatch, looked unusually startled, his wide grin fading, at the elder Speaker's action for an instantaneous moment as he worked his own blade across the front of Lucien's scalp vigorously, gradually beginning to peal back the layers of flesh and hair that resided there before forcing himself to look back down upon his own work and refocus himself. Mathieu alone did not share their mutual misgivings, he merely smiled his pleased little smile as he and Arquen worked masterfully together upon Lucien's dying body, Mathieu upon his stomach, Arquen lower still. Finishing up now, moving to join him, his own face was stained nearly as much as Arquen's... though this was soon to change.

He remembered a lair... buried away in the earth... the home of his once most hated, powerful enemy... an enemy at last isolated, and surrounded... and vulnerable.  
><em><br>"... that will do for questions... there is nothing left you can answer for us... now, it is our turn. You know already as well as we what you have done... regardless of your very evident insanity... it is no defence... there is no defence for you or any other, should you attempt to make one. You had an opportunity to be something else than... this, to become an ideal... but you have foregone it, forsaken everything, and chose to thirst after and covet power as surely as you once did blood. These proceeding's shall be carried out for the sake of completion... of bringing this time of internal bloodshed to an end, and ushering in a new, better time than now... where the Family's may continue uninterrupted by treachery. This sentencing of the Black Hand is officially called to order... in attendance here within the recesses of Deepscorn Hollow before a shrine of our Lord and Father Sithis... a most befitting location... is myself, Listener Fargo, as well as the four Fingers of the Hand... Speaker Dieudonne, Speaker Arquen, Speaker Ungolim and Speaker Uvani. Also in attendance, having more than earned their presence at this meeting and Judgement of the Black Hand, having been instrumental in tracking down and personally slaying your 'beloved' followers... we are joined by each __of their respective Talon's. Silencer Blanchard, Silencer Lachance, Silencer J'Ghasta and Silencer Angelique, the last of which I might add... was severely wounded personally by you in our campaign against your heresy. The final two great Brothers here amongst us, is your former mentor, and the Master of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, the eternally loyal Vampire Vicente Valtieri... who has kindly volunteered to write a record for the Hand's passages of what will take place here to you this evening. While the other is the one whose information made tracking down you and your followers as simple as it was... the Vampire Silarian... the only one of your followers with enough sense to see what you were from the start, and who at great risk to his own life, sought to topple you before you tried to seize power. Greywyn Blenwyth... you stand bound and guilty before the Black Hand... guilty of the most horrendous of crimes... betrayal of the Parents and the Family's... you have sought to pervert and subvert the true meaning of our entire establishment... to effect change where none was required... and make it all your own. To take what you could never hope to create... to steal a world you were once accepted graciously into... a world you do not belong in any longer. You have murdered countless Family members, and have strewn discord and dismay amongst the ranks of our Brotherhood... where none had existed prior, through the means of your Crimson Scars... your tools, not your family members... under the guise of Vampire supremacy. Secretly using feelings of Vampires deserving higher standing as opposed to equality... spreading such false, lying ways through the family's... you created an army you told us was merely holding the same views as the rest of the Brotherhood. We at first tolerated your idea... believed the Scars to be simply an addition... an extension of our goals, and opening up further opportunity's about Cyrodiil for contracts as well as additional Sanctuary's. An additional strength... not the poison it turned out to be. Your high regard and your achievements... your record was such that we did not question your true motivations and intentions... you were once among our finest Brothers, Greywyn... worthy of reaching the Hand... and you so foolishly abused your position for your own selfish gain... squandered your potential. There was never any need for feelings of embitterment between Mortals and Vampires... for standing in front of you is clear proof that you were wrong... two Vampires without the greed to wish to take and rule over what belongs to all of us. It was a lesson you should have taken to heart the first day you lived amongst us... that races and genders are not factors in the love of a Family. You yourself have even contradicted your own racist lies now... scrambling to cure yourself of Vampirism and succeeding... incapable of even making a decision and sticking by it to the end... marking you not only a traitor, but a coward of the deepest sense as well... unable to choose. Perhaps, despite all the damage you have loosed upon the Brotherhood... it was for the best, if the end result is now removing one as damaging as you from existence... rooting out the weak-willed and the spineless that followed you... one's such as yourself who could never hope to serve the Father properly... you're so-called visioning of him being merely delusions, signs of your instability. If your Crimson Scars had thought Sithis would desire something such as all this... they were as deluded as you are. Chaos is the means of the Family... it is our weapon... and our way... but it is not to be turned and used against we who wield it... only upon the unworthy. You have failed... in every regard... that is all there is to it. You were unable to seize what you do not deserve... and you were unable to amputate the Hand. You were particularly wrong about one thing... even more than you were about all the others. There are no old ways, Greywyn... as there are no new ways... there is one way... the only way, the way of the Night Mother I alone of us have heard... the Mother who has made deciphering His word possible... and She is not very pleased with you, my child. Not very pleased at all. She has told me explicitly of the fate that awaits you in the Void... and while I can never hope to summarize it here in words... what will occur there to you for all eternity, will be infinitely more agonizing then we here of the Hand could ever possibly inflict... but we shall do our best... of that I promise... and I have already some ideas where to begin and end. We will break you before you reach the Void... and in so doing, show our Father that His message has been received... and that we will not anger Him through lack of vigilance... and that we will be more careful in the future, should another potential traitor like yourself come forth... as is inevitable. We have cleansed you fairly quickly... __rooted you out... but your kind has always and shall always exist... but so shall we. And so shall we always be your greater. I have been a Listener now far longer then you have been killing... maiming... and as such, I rather think it's clear I know far more than you of it. For all your experience... you are merely a child... less than one. Insolent, ungrateful... and unworthy. I have destroyed men, women and immortals infinitely your greater... individuals more worthy of the Black Hand's time... and when we are done with you, you shall be at best a footnote on the pages of our history... a warning of what comes to those such as you. You will pay for every of your sins tonight... and never again stain the family's with your mere presence. Yet... for all the wickedness of which you are composed... I am merciful... I will allow you the opportunity to speak... repent, before your punishment... allow you to beg forgiveness of the Father... He is watching you now, Greywyn... you have always sought His attention... now is your chance to speak, before Him and His true children. I will not lessen your punishment if you speak... but it shall go on record... why not leave behind a small trace of dignity? It's all you'll be able to leave the Nirn with now. You may now speak."_

_"... I am guilty, I admit it and accept the full consequences I will receive... of what I have done, you will hear me make no denials of it, Listener... I heard His voice... and I have misinterpreted it. He came to me, long ago... and He spoke... He told me what He wanted... a Brotherhood free from the hold of the clean blooded... a new way. Things have been the same for so long now... it made perfect sense that He might wish for change... change being inevitable in the universe around us. Vampires have magic in their blood... powers mortals didn't, and never age... I thought these advantages over the living... that sacrifice was necessary to make the Brotherhood better... I thought He needed an order with a greater chance of never dying out... but I was wrong... the differences between mortals and immortals... they were miniscule... unimportant, when it came to the soul. What you did... what all of you did... I possessed a hold over more minds than I ever have before... and I abused that power, as the Hand has never done... I filled their heads with... with a biased interpretation... not a fact... and as such I did not attempt to dig deeper into deciphering His word, as I should have... when it may not have been Him at all, but myself. I never questioned my circumstances... the effects they have had on my rationality. I had an entire army of the finest Vampires I have ever known... and each of you of the Hand, mortals all... destroyed nearly all of them in the course of a single night... we were not better than you, merely for having a type of blood you did not... blood and genetics does not hold a candle to experience, and to knowledge. I thought I knew what He was saying... I felt Him within me... and I... I... I am damned regardless of what I say, of course... I do not even want that to change... I understand that, only now, do I understand. Ridding myself of the Dark Gift... it purifies only my blood... not myself... my spirit... it does not change at all what I have done... the Brothers and Sister's I have killed... I will never be whole again. I was wrong... I blinded myself with the beliefs of supremacy... in an effort to cope with the magnitude of turning Vampire... turning in a manner and under circumstances that were my own fault to begin with. Hubris. I was arrogant. I had read each of the legends... the story's... of how despised my old kind had been by the world... and I let that take a hold of me... I let it consume me, and blind me to reality. Even after hearing accounts to the contrary, in the time before forming the Scars... from Vampires far older and experienced then I... I edited the lessons Vicente willingly and kindly gave me to make them more self appealing and satisfying... to the point I blocked out the most important of them all. That it was only the outside world that had ever damned Vampires... and even then, not the whole world. Hatreds and bigotry's are never held by an entire world, merely elements of it. It had never been even elements with the Dark Brotherhood. The Dark Brotherhood has given stability and understanding since first it was founded, to countless Vampires... to psychopaths... serial killers, sadists, rapists, cannibals and Werewolves. It did not matter what specific category of evil or perceived evil you fell under... so long as you were a being born of Darkness... you belonged to Sithis from the beginning, and to the Family. Love... love is all that matters... it is all that has ever mattered... and I had it... I had it so close to me from the start... and I was not contented by it... I wanted something else... I could not be satisfied, in my pride... my lust for power due to my own insecurity's... I truly did descend into insanity... I was weak... that's why I needed to lie to myself... needed my own beliefs to punish others for what I had become, because I could never live up to the truth. I killed people who would have thrown down their lives out of love to save me. I led countless good, whole, Vampires to their deaths... because of my own delusions. The old ways... the ways of now, that is... they created the Dark Brotherhood to begin with... they do not need to be altered... the balance of power must be kept as the Night Mother wishes it to be... if put into the wrong hands... my hands... it would bring only ruin. It would destroy a Family rendering a great service to the Nirn... death is our business... and will always be necessary... we are not only a family, but public servants... performing what many are incapable of. I was a fool to go against Her word... His word... whatever He has in store for me, in the Void... I deserve. Whatever you all do to me now... I deserve... I need. My soul is already cracking at the seams... you must be the ones to break it... it is His will... and it must be done. There is no delusion to this... this is perhaps the only time I ever heard Him right... for not only has He told me now of His disappointment... but you His true children who hear the word of His Bride do so as well. I am sorry... Listener Fargo. I have done far worse than wasted your time. I lied to you... to all of you... you are each great men and women... as I could never be... free from any delusions or weaknesses that could bring about ruin as I did. I was ambitious... yet far too ambitious, to the point ambition becomes a crutch... I sought contracts for the sake of advancing... when I should have been more like you, Lucien... J'Ghasta, rather than hating you... being jealous of you. You were right. I should have been doing them for my Family... not for something as unimportant... something so trivial as a mere title, or self-absorption over my own ability's. Title does not reflect worth in the slightest... we were all important... I was important... I was a part in something greater than me... and I broke off from the whole... but not before corrupting other parts... hurting the only Family that has ever loved me. I am ready... to be cleansed, properly cleansed... more than my blood this time... I need the cleanser that is pain... and I pray, despite no longer having that right... that one day, Sithis, the Mother, and you all... shall forgive me. I know it will not happen... but it is all I can hope for. I repent everything I have done... and am prepared to burn for every bit of it. I am... I am ready now, Listener. Th-thank you... thank you for this last chance to speak."_

_"I have given the right before many a time... my child... it is only who I am. The Black Hand has heard your confession of guilt... and I make only one promise to you in turn, the only one you deserve... that your word will not be altered in our records... yet make no mistake, you shall be held up forever as a monster. I now call for each of my Speaker's to render their own Judgement... to hear their voices accompanying mine. If they have anything to add, they may do so now, of course. Speaker Dieudonne, my dearest sister... what are your thoughts and your verdict?"_

_"As we have already discussed my thoughts in private... I wish for them to remain known only to us at this time. Guilty, my dear Listener."_

_"I understand... Speaker Arquen?"_

_"Guilty! His just death shall be a most beautiful one... the only part of his life worth noting... for which I offer of course my own speciality's, regardless of how vile the reaping of his flesh will prove."_

_"You shall be given your opportunity, sister... of that you may be certain. Speaker Ungolim?"_

_"Guilty where he stands, sir... there is no innocence to him, and no doubt in my mind. He is a blight upon everything the Brotherhood stands for... I was a fool ever to consider him worthy, and I gladly wash my hands of him."_

_"And Speaker Uvani?"_

_"Pronouncing him guilty implies that he is a man worthy of our Judgement... he is not... he is a parasite and a worm posing for one. We have shredded away the illusion, and have him now as he really is... a crazed creature. We shall be putting him down like an animal... not a man... but for the sake of finishing these proceedings, I pronounce him guilty."_

_"Thank you, my family... we are all of the same mind. Greywyn Blenwyth, you are pronounced guilty of treachery within the Dark Brotherhood. The sentence is prolonged torture and execution. Goodbye, Greywyn... and may Sithis one day have mercy on your soul."_

_"Thank you... my Listener... thank you..."_

_"Speakers... you are each to insert one of your blades through each of his hands and feet... and you are to do so deeply enough to stick through the ground and the walls... so that his blood shall leak steadily upon our Father's Shrine. Silencers, you four are to insert a blade of your own through his legs and arms and twist them several times before returning to my side... we will create a fountain of him... you may expand upon this torture, add something of your own, but none of you eight have my permission to sever any of his artery's or do anything that will immediately kill him... not yet. Death will arrive late for him. Carry forth, my Brothers and Sisters."_

_"It shall be done, my Listener."_

_"I do so eagerly, my Listener... and might I add, that's a clever beginning... a little blood-letting does wonders as an opening, a nice warm up... I already dread the prospect of it having to come to an end... but we can make it last awhile, I should think. I cannot wait for the next step..."_

_"Consider him exsanguinated, my Listener"_

_"This wretch will know pain, my Listener... true pain."_

_"My blade is ready to obey, my Listener."_

_"Yes, my Listener"._

_"I will crush this vermin's bones in your name, my Listener."_

_"It will be my pleasure, my Listener... when I am done with him, he shall wish he had finished me off."_

_"Come now Greywyn... why do you look so upset? You made this happen... it's your own bloody fault... all at once, shall we brothers? Pick your places... perfect, now on three... one... two... three!"_

_"AHHHHHHHH... GHHHHHHHH Sithis... Sithis spare me... Sithis... NNNNNNNN... HHHHHHHH... Mother... I am sorry... I am... Uhhhhhh! Nhhhhhh... Nhhhhh... hhhhhh... hhhhh... hhh..."_

_"His blood is not worthy to touch our Father's altar... but it is His wish... and His will shall be done."_

_"Hhhhh...Hhhhh...hhhh..."_

_"Ok Brothers, Sister's... have your way with him... whatever you wish to do, but remember, do not kill him yet"._

_..._

_"That will do, my Children, for the moment... come back to my side, save Speaker Arquen... and merely watch now what she has in store for a finale. Arquen? You may proceed whenever you are ready."_

_"I've been ready for months, my Listener... but yes, I am properly prepared... and more than motivated as it is. Such a mess, my brothers and sisters have left... but then that is the best kind of meal of all. I would cast fire upon you, Greywyn... the only cleanser of sins such as yours... but it would only be doing you a favour... it is not painful enough... not at all. There are... alternatives. Have you ever stood in the midst of a lightning storm? It is an experience of exhilaration like few others... the heavy beating of the rains soaking into your clothes... the ground softening beneath your boots... the rumble of thunder... I feel Sithis, when I stand in the rain. I feel him everywhere, to be sure... but in the rain... in the night... there is a power to His voice unlike anything I have ever imagined... He whispers to me in a way He never would you. It is not a delusion trying to make me destroy my brothers... but a whisper for true sacrifices he desires... the innocent and unsuspecting. The arcs of lightning streaming overhead in the clouded night... there is a raw purity to it all that would never be possible without Him... lightning... as surely as fire... are mere vestiges of his power... and He brings them forth to the Nirn as a display... to show us a speck of what He can do to us. He is everything that is Chaos... and when I deliver people both unlike and like you to Him... He whispers again to me... of His pleasure... that He loves me... loves everything I am doing. Everything I am... I owe to Him. I would like to share what he has given to me... would like to share it with you. I hold not the entirety of His great power... but this we have deemed magic, belongs to Him... not me. Let us see how His purity effects you... you will scream... you insignificant vermin... we have all broken stronger men... they screamed... and now you will too."_

_"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! UHHHHHHHHH! HHHHHHHHHHHH**.**.. Sister... Speaker... I... AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Arquen... I am sorry... I am... HHHHHHHHHH!..."_

_"Shhhhh... no no no... no speaking, young one, and certainly no apologies... your screams are enough... they are the dialect I can understand the most... they are a symphony... the music I compose... oh my... that is an exquisite stench, you know... the burning of flesh... but you see... it is not so much the scent that draws me... but the taste... did you know that? It's funny... the rumours that circulate about me... my ways... even from some of the mouths of the Brotherhood I am accepted within. When I was young myself... I was despised for them... despised for a great many habits really... and by my own parents, my sisters... or rather, those I thought to be my parents and sisters... I was outcast from my home... from the community like a plague bearer... my own family despised me... wherever I went I was not welcome... I tried to settle down and start a family of my own, once... that went about as well... eventually, with the proper motivation... I stopped my attempts to belong in 'normal society'... there held no place for me there... and I became something else altogether... until my true Father and Mother made themselves known to me. You must have known my ways already, bringing it up with the other forms of evil in your confession. I feed... I must feed... and those such as you revile it. The young have that way about them... fear mongering... whispering together of my habits... my very children, afraid of me... well, most of them at least... some of the young startle me now and again by how open and understanding of my ways they are... while equally surprising, older family members disapprove as greatly as the young can. You had no problem with the drinking of blood, until now... why is it the flesh is so looked down upon? We consume animals without a second thought... but is not man or elf merely another form of animal? I will answer what I think... I think it is reviled because they have not yet learned to embrace other ways of living... they are so set in their own ways, as you were set in killing your family, that they are short-sighted... unwilling to try it for themselves... but their loss is my gain... I have no such aversions. Well... to your flesh I do... but I can stomach it... by now, I can do so with ease. You were stupid you know... turning yourself back to a mortal as we caught up to you... if you had remained Vampire, I would not have been able to consume your flesh... you had been dead for far too long. Don't get me wrong... I could have still tortured you, in countless other ways to be sure... but not my favourite way. I suppose I have to thank you... I haven't eaten in far too long through this sordid affair... your Vampire offspring were of no interest to me... and I had better stop electrocuting you... before you are rendered a tasteless blackened husk. You may continue screaming, my child... while you still have a tongue... and the eyes to see us. You know... I'll start there... actually... your eyes... a nice appetizer..."_

_"AHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHHH! NNNNNNNNNNN..."_

_"Now your tongue... screams are beautiful... but I prefer watching you writhe, wanting to scream yet having no voice or power to... like you have no sight. Placing you inside a prison from which there is no escape possible"._

_"Ghhh... guhhhhhh... Hkkkkkk-_

_"Mmmm... there we are. How does it feel, Greywyn? You can still hear me... but cant do much else... how does it feel to be trapped in darkness, the walls closing in upon you... to be torn from your old world so easily... as you tore away so many others who were actually undeserving of their fates, unlike you? You needn't answer. I understand what you are feeling. But where next shall I consume... hmm... it's something, isn't it... the waiting? Waiting for the pain to resume... not knowing where it will come from... and whether it will be from the heat of my mouth or the coldness of the blade. I won't do you any favours by spoiling the surprise... by speaking of where next... so I'll stay silent for a while... and choose spots on your body at random, until I am full. Ah... yes... that's it... don't struggle against the restraints any longer... merely relax yourself... you aren't going anywhere... and you know as much"._

_...  
><em>

_"Hhh... there... that about does it for me. You are still with us, Greywyn... after all this, that is most impressive. You struggle against your own damnation... for these moments with me will be a pleasure compared to what awaits in the Void. Hm... I'm being selfish though, I must admit... not inviting any of the others to assist me... say, Blanchard... you are looking mightily pale... I'm sure we would all understand if you wish to wait outside with the others... no? Very well... try to get a grip of yourself then... you are witnessing a lesson here as I do this... take it to heart. Let's see... Valeria, no, I know what you think of me... Ungolim... no, you prefer to watch me work... Ulval?"_

_"I would rather watch you continue as well, sister... your talents put mine to shame... after all this time I still enjoy seeing you perform"._

_"Why thank you... in that case, if none of the other Fingers wish to join... I am about done anyways... I would rather his life be directly taken then allow him to bleed to death, as he shall be soon. I know one of us won't refuse the opportunity of doing so. Lucien, my dearest Silencer... come over here, won't you?"_

_"My Speaker?"_

_"I want you to kill Greywyn, my dear... I haven't left much of him for you to torture... my apologies, but if you want to continue, by all means... regardless, I want you to be the one to send him to our Father. You have already such a reputation... it would serve you well to add another accomplishment... another name to your list. Go on my child... before he slips away"._

_"It shall be done, my Speaker... I do not know if you can hear me, Greywyn... although you and I were not on the best of terms... even long before this point... you have been a worthy prey... knowing you has been most illuminating. I choose not to continue where my Speaker has left off... for hands more powerful than my own await you... and I would rather you fall into them now, and waste not another second of our time. Farewell... and may Sithis purge you from existence in a way my killing your body will not"._

_..._

_"I'm surprised he even had enough blood left in his throat to spill... well done, Lucien."_

_"Thank you, Speaker Arquen... though it was a miniscule action compared to your own part"._

_"Flatterer... but you finished the job, never forget that"._

_"I will not, I should think, my Speaker"._

_"The sentence has been carried out... and we are done here. Vicente... you have everything recorded?"_

_"Indeed so my Listener... the rough first draft at least, I'll do another in greater detail when I get back to the Sanctuary... and send each to you."_

_"Thank you, Vicente... Lucien, unbind him from his enchantments and restraints... and bring him with us... or rather, what remains. We may be done with his life, but not his body... and it shall not remain here in the presence of our Father's altar... offending this place of beauty. Let us all be on our way... and may the Dread Father be pleased with our vigilant actions on this day"._

_"Yes... my Listener."_

He didn't scream or plead as Mathieu's frost endowed blade slid upwards through his stomach neatly, steadily making its way through his intestines and twisting the ones together that he didn't sever. All through this the heat and warmth that was his life began to dim, and he truly felt cold, far colder even then the touch of Mathieu's blade could provide... an empty kind of cold as black as obsidian that he had never approached so closely as he was, and his vision slowly dimmed... but did not yet go out entirely. The embrace of his Mother did not fade either, the one constant throughout, and he could hear her cooing into his ear even as death and terrible pain the likes of which he had never before experienced rushed to overtake him, rushed to destroy his will and resolve, but he did not let it. Lucien held fast to life for as long and hard as possible, and by perhaps some cosmic miracle, or perhaps the intervention of Sithis himself, Sithis nearing now to take him to a place where there was no pain, he lived long enough to watch, and to feel, as Arquen ordered Mathieu to stop, if only for the moment, and the two peered down malignantly together at the flooding hole the wasted away boy had left behind.

He remembered another home hiding safely below a city... a Sanctuary... but not his own. Hers.

_"It is bullshit, that's what it is, my child! Sheer madness! I refer not to Ungolim's succession... that was to be expected of Fargo... I do not wish to speak ill of him... cast an insult to his memory... but it was all nepotism, plain and simple! You should be Speaker now that Ungolim has moved forward in the positions of responsibility, not J'Ghasta!"_

_"My Speaker...-_

_"It was only done because J'Ghasta was Ungolim's Silencer, but that does not mean he was the right man for the role! What in the Void was Fargo playing at?! Why didn't he leave behind a specific instruction for you to be promoted before he passed on? You belong amongst us as a Speaker, that much is clear... but no, merely because Ungolim was Fargo's Talon, and J'Ghasta was Ungolim's... they believe that has to be the line of succession, that there can be no divides or readjustments for the sake of the Hand! Did it not occur to them that the Speakers should be those individuals best suited for the tasks required, not merely the next in line!? You have the proper skills in spades! You should have been made Speaker years ago, when you came back! I'm of half a mind to protest this outrage to the Hand! I won't stand for it!"_

_"Speaker... if you would just-_

_"Fargo knew your record! He knew what you've done! Five years traversing the entire North, going Sanctuary to Sanctuary, protecting them from every manner of assaults, single-handedly completing contracts fit for Silencers and Speakers when you were an Assassin! You saved countless brothers and sisters of Skyrim... you stopped the collapse of our Family's there and gave them the time they needed to begin rebuilding, recovering and refortifying! He saw your worth and he loved you, but he couldn't be bothered to see your true potential, and give you the free rein you deserve! He should have made it clear as a final wish for you to be Speaker... but in not leaving a record... well, of course Ungolim wouldn't complain, so eager to keep you Silencer, to promote everyone but you... that snivelling little-_

_"Arquen, please. You are set on me becoming a Speaker... so will you kindly allow me a chance to speak freely?"_

_"...yes, yes of course my dear... I was carried away"_

_"Thank you. Your indignation on my behalf is lovely... but I must admit to you... it does not bother me, at all, my not being promoted. It does not. Listener Fargo would have had his reasons for not doing so... promotion is not the motivating factor of my life... you know that."_

_"Yes yes of course, you are more humble by far than any other I've met... but that does not change the facts... you more than deserve this opportunity... it feels as though the others are trying to hold you back, I am not the only one who believed you would get the succession to Speaker... it just makes no sense. I and countless others can testify to your deeds... yet it would never change the mind of Ungolim... nepotism... J'Ghasta is better off a Silencer at the moment... he needs more time to learn, you on the other hand... you are perfect... you belong at my side, speaking the Mother's will."_

_"And that would be beautiful, my Speaker... but as it is, I am still a Silencer... and I do not mind. I wish to take my time... to continue learning... every day there are new lessons in the life of a Silencer... how many would have gone by, how many would I have missed out on if I had been promoted instead of J'Ghasta?"_

_"But you are ready now!"_

_"Evidently... I am not. Perhaps there is more required of me in the role of Silencer... while J'Ghasta's time as Silencer has merely reached its end. None of us are the same. Only one of us could ascend, at this time... I did not... and that is where we are at. If it was Fargo's will, the Night Mother's will, that I not yet rise... then we must obey, and try not to be short-sighted. Everything that occurs is because She wants it to... it does not do to despair. I may become a Speaker tomorrow, a decade from now or never... but that is not the point. The point is, I am serving... we are both serving... they do not have to be in the same capacity, for there are so many different roles. Our Parents wish it to be this way... it is as simple as that."_

_"...I know... it's just... seeing everything you have done... I want you to be given everything you deserve... I do not question the Parents... that is not it, or has ever been the case. I want you to be where I am... to come to know the feeling, giving a child a home... it is like no other."_

_"I understand... and yes, I do wish to experience that... to feel as each of you four do, bringing another into Darkness... it is not difficult to imagine how enriching it feels... but it's not my time... not yet... and that is perfectly alright. Arquen... I know J'Ghasta... he belongs on the Black Hand... he was with me, in all that time in the North... he survived what I went through, we worked together countless times... yes, perhaps Listener Ungolim was relying upon nepotism when he chose J'Ghasta... but... if I may be so bold, it is no different then you wanting me to be Speaker... that too would have been nepotism. It is... natural, for one in your position to favour your own child over another's... that is understandable... but I am not the only person with the skills and means to be Speaker... I believe J'Ghasta has it in himself to perform just as well as I would have, in his shoes. He is a more than worthy choice."_

_"... were you any other... the things I would do to them if they accused me of favouritism... but... I see a point, in your thoughts... and they only hammer the injustice ever deeper... you are still so young, yet you can fathom the protective mind of a mother, a parent... the love one holds for a child... you have more than the means to be a great Speaker... but...-  
><em>  
><em>"Let it go, my Speaker... it is fine. I'm not at all upset... therefore, you needn't be either. Besides... I almost think you are trying to hurt my feelings".<em>

_"Excuse me?"_

_"Are you really so eager to end our current... relationship? The relationship of Silencer and Speaker? Were I to become Speaker, we would have to start over... things would change in more ways than you might think."_

_"And in what ways would those be?"_

_"Well... for one... you will not be able to tell me what to do any longer."_

_"... I hadn't considered that."_

_"You say I understand the protective mind of a Mother... is there not also the part where a Mother fear's her child's growing up? Given what I know of you, I rather thought that would be the case."_

_"Whose to say it's not, Silencer? It's one of the many things bugging me at the moment... but... you are right... I am so focused upon the future for you... I am overlooking the present. Our present."_

_"Now you've got it... we should not be worrying about what is to come... but celebrating what we have, and the continuing of our ways. Yes... our Listener has died... but he goes to the Void, to his reward... and we continue, as he wanted of us."_

_"The present does hold many things, Silencer... a few ideas are coming to mind..."_

_"Such as?"_

_"I think you know. There's us... a desk... and all the time in the world. Come over here... let me see you. Hm... it'll be as much a shame when you replace this remarkably fitting bodysuit with loose robes like these as it will be a pleasure... but we can make the most of it, while we can."_

_"Now that is the proper spirit, my Speaker."_

_"Don't worry, my child... I'm sure I can make things up to you for the foolishness of Fargo... there is nothing like a night of comfort, is there not?"._

_"I rather believe it will be I comforting you, with respect my Speaker... I feel I've made it clear that I do not min-_

_"Shut up, Lucien... but one more thing, before play time, just so we are clear."_

_"And what is that?"_

_"When you are Speaker... there is nothing even in that position, being my equal in rank, that will prevent me from telling you what to do... when need be. Do you have any objections?"._

_"Have I ever?"_

He watched and felt her gloved hand slip into his stomach cavity and grasp a handful of the visible, soaked pulpiness that were his intestines, and tear them free from his stomach, raising them up to her stained, full lips that screamed silently for more... and he did not scream as her teeth went into them, biting and ripping, her unblinking, muddy eyes, so similar to Mathieu's, neither of their pairs leaving his own dark ones. Even as Belisarius's merciful blade found his throat at last and a deepening dimness on all sides of his being began to take form, Lucien's remained open, and in the glinting flash of iron and jettisoning blood from his jugular and carotid as the blade went across deeply, Lucien's fellow Imperial seemingly finished the deed, though certainly, he or any of them for that matter would never truly know who struck the ultimate killing blow it's self.

He remembered his Home again... and the light dying in her eyes, as his were now, as she beseeched him.

_"Lucien... my dear boy... is that you? I cannot see well... please, you needn't stand so far away... close the door and come closer... over to the bed... step into the light."_

_"Speaker..."._

_"I was beginning to fear you wouldn't make it in time to see me off... the others of the Hand were not sure their letter would be delivered quickly enough... but you came... you're here... I have said my goodbyes to them already, and there's still a little time left to speak with you... to say what I must. Please sit down... and give me your fullest of attentions"._

_"Anything, my Speaker... anything you have to say, I listen."_

_"You always have, child... to every command... every single word. I would have left behind a letter, you know... but... as it is, I am certain you understand why not... really... I am a Speaker for the Night Mother... have served the Dark Brotherhood and led for hundreds of years... and I hold not the strength to even lift my arms. Heh... it was inevitable, though... I have always known that. These past years I have noticed it especially... I am slow... far slower than I once was... and I was too slow to defend myself properly... but I would never turn up a contract, even in my age... I once believed it would be... humiliating... my ending, but I did rather well, didn't I? At least... I killed them, as I was expected to see through... but they have killed me... or will have, unless something is done about it... which I have been mulling over since it happened. You cannot begin to imagine, how many times I thought about it... how it would come to pass... my end... it was the way I always hoped it would be... when my body failed me, and I was no longer capable of serving in this mortal form... still... it is something... something to be brought down... an end to this life... all my training overwhelmed by mere age that cannot be fought."_

_"Speaker... I am sorry."_

_"I'm not... it had to happen... I always wanted it to happen. I do not live with a death wish... well, perhaps we all do in some form... and I certainly did once... but it was never a matter that has worried or troubled me... when it is time, I will follow in Listener Fargo's wake, as every fallen brother and sister before him has... and I shall join them in a Home greater even then this of Cheydinhal... a Sanctuary fit for all of us, to continue the Father's service. You know that as well as I... so why do you look so sad?"_

_"I... I could have done something, if I had been there... I could have saved you."_

_"And delay my returning to my Father's side? Do you truly believe... that is what I would want?"_

_"No... you are dying on your own terms... but you are my Speaker... my mother... and if I had been present..."_

_"We have shared much... it is true... conversations and moments I will carry to the Void, that have warmed my heart... but we both know... who your true mother was, Lucien, all these years... you know something? I regret... amongst many other regrets, that it was not I who delivered you into Darkness... that I did not come to you in the night as Arquen did, and give you this life. I wish to be clear... I do not hate Arquen... how could I ever? I delivered her into Darkness myself, at one time. Has she ever told you that?"_

_"No... she has not."_

_"I am not surprised... yet you surely would have put the pieces together on your own... they were all there... and a mind as broad as your own could do so easily."_

_"I... was not certain... I chose not to bring it up... she spoke of you so much to me, yet never that particular detail. I thought it better that she confess as much, when she was prepared. I know how it must seem... but she did not hate you either"._

_"No... I don't believe so either... she could never do so of me... she feels herself indebted to me... regardless of... the bitterness that has, or had, formed. There never was a debt... I spoke my peace to her, already... and we are parting on good terms, at long last"._

_"I am glad... Speaker... you have had a hard life... you deserve anything you wish... you have carried your duty... beautifully... I never would have imagined a soul so rich could experience a lifetime such as yours."_

_"But it's not over yet... I have one final duty, Lucien... and it must be seen through while still I draw breath. First... I must return to Arquen... give you the information you require... and I must address the state of the Black Hand. I have never looked down upon Arquen, or her ways... I was aware of them from the beginning... and I saw them as you do... a nocturnal blessing, an evil of such unmitigated beauty, it rivals any other... and surpasses many. No, it was not her hunger that filled me with discontent, for I am not a believer in evil possessing standards... but it was the mind behind such ways I feared. Arquen... is powerful... capable... she is with ease one of the greatest Sisters I have ever held the honour of knowing, in my entire life... but I must tell you this. Her ways... are blinding... they constrict her... and I elevated her to the position of Speaker, for I thought such a position would temper her, over time... the responsibility's would bring her clarity, and calm... they did not. They changed her, of course... but they did not accomplish what I had hoped they would. Arquen was a perfect Silencer... and perhaps if she had remained there... I would not feel so uneasy as I do. If I fear anything, it is my worry for the future of the Black Hand. Arquen... for all her loyalty and love of the family... is as potentially dangerous to the Dark Brotherhood as she is to her enemies... were she to be manipulated in some fashion... were her mind to be set upon a course of action that would not serve our ways... well... she could harm all that we stand for. It is with pain I confess this fear... I am concerned for the future of this new Black Hand I leave behind... I have been watching the troubling signs... and I have compared them to prior Hand's I have served upon. I have... witnessed even the finest brothers and sisters succumb to some inner weakness, and nearly bring ruin to the Brotherhood... tenfold of the damage Greywyn caused... we were prepared well for that one... Fargo left it to me, to see this thing through... to tell you all this. I have no real proof that could ever be verified as truth that danger shall be the case for the new Hand... but... I feel it. He felt it... and did he not hear our Mother? He was careful with what he revealed to me... but he would have had his reasons. This Black Hand does not feel entirely right... and I hoped to fix this problem, before I left... now, my plans have changed, been accelerated... and I must leave behind the best means to fix a potential... mess. It is my mortal duty... and I am not yet discharged. You are different, child... so very different from each of them... from many I have met... there is an indefinable quality to you... an immense, grounded strength... the world at large holds no danger for you... you live without fears, and shoulder your responsibility's without regret... perhaps, forgive the possible hubris... you remind me of myself when I was young... you are what the Black Hand needs in a time such as this... remember that. You set the tone. I... want you to make me a promise... Lucien. No matter what occurs."_

_"Anything you require of me."_

_"Watch Arquen... and watch her closely. Love and cherish her as I know you do, be her lover, friend and soulmate... but watch her... and perhaps watch all of them, if it comes to it"._

_"Why?"_

_"You will understand... but I cannot help but feel part of you already does... the time you have spent with her... with each of the Fingers as Silencer, you see in her exactly what I have... an evil purity... and the potential to spread accidental discord through her actions... without even wishing so. She is like a flame... having natural loyalty to the one unleashing her... but with the capability of sending everything about her up in an inferno, if not properly maintained. She is a woman... and a great being... but she is, if circumstances permit... a danger to you. Please... try to give her stability... she has always spoken of the Brotherhood giving her this stability when she joined us... but such was not entirely the case... we gave her understanding... the means to achieve stability... but true stability must also come from within... a desire to do so... her mind fights it's self, locked in a struggle, as it has been since she was a little girl... but I believe you are something different altogether... one the likes of which she has never encountered... her effortless equal, and her best chance. Please, Lucien... try to influence her... give her knowledge she has chosen to overlook... seek not to end her ways, of course... but seek to give her knowledge... try to let her realize her yet untapped potential... do not let her rage damn you all... promise me you will take care of her, as she has you"._

_"I promise, Speaker."_

_"Thank you. That leads us to my next point... my passing will leave behind a vacancy... a missing Finger upon the Hand. This cannot be... therefore, you shall claim my role, and my robes. I have already made this clear to the others, and they have all agreed. This position will serve you well in carrying out my promise... for in the position of power you have long deserved, you will be able to contribute yourself amongst the other Fingers... you may perhaps act as a catalyst, a balancing effect... evening out the other powerful and infinitely differing personality's now in charge. In many a meeting, I have listened to them speak of you with the greatest of love and praise... you are special, not only to they, but the entire brotherhood... and it is not merely your achievements that have made this so... it is your spirit. Hopefully... it will be enough, your presence among them... enough to avert my... fears."._

_"Arquen was furious... when I was not made Speaker, last time the position was available... I told her such anger was unnecessary... that the position would either come again for me, or not... I was fine with it either way."_

_"Yes... it was clear for some time how greatly it effected her... she can control what she looks like, acts like, her expressions and actions within our meetings... but we all know her too well... we could see what was beneath the surface... but she did not voice her anger, and her deep misgivings with Fargo's final wishes... I rather thought you had played a hand in that. It was to me a demonstration of your power... she has rarely ever curtailed her more volatile opinions and views... her wishes... but for you, she could. I believe, more ever then before... that you are her greatest hope. You can give her everything she has sought for so long... you can help her."_

_"I wish to... very much so. And I will never give up on her as others have."_

_"Thank you... child... she is so fortunate... and she does not realize it... life has been equally fair and cruel to her... but she has not grasped that, yet. She can not understand what is so easy for us to... it has been her way... but with knowledge, comes understanding... it holds true for any individual... she is no exception. I wish you the best of luck, in your endeavour... and endeavours... and wish I could be down here amongst you to see them carried out... but I will still be watching, always... and one day we shall speak again. For now... there is one final action, I require on your part. I... apologize deeply for this, giving you so many responsibility's as I leave... but I know you do not accept my apology... I know you feel there is nothing for me to apologize for."_

_"Yes, my Speaker... your wishes, and commands... shall always be performed."_

_"Such a good child... Lucien... you have been so kind... and I fear this last request will be the opposite. I will die soon... yes... from wounds inflicted from the unworthy... a death those like you and I can not abide... we are not like that, willing to die in bed... we are servants of Darkness... and should die standing. I wish... to spit upon the grave insult they have given me... to tell them they could not finish what they had attempted... and there is only one way left for that to be done. You must kill me, Lucien... I ask you to lift me from this bed... to hold me close, standing upon solid ground... and deliver me into the waiting arms of my Father. I ask you to be the mother and father I never was to you."_

_"The Five Tenets...-_

_"State that you may not refuse the order of a Dark Brotherhood superior... and while I still draw breath, that is what I am. I refer to Tenet three... which rests above Tenet five... and as such, is of a greater importance. I know you, Lucien... you will not disobey what I wish... you will honour me with all the love in your heart, and see this through. I have already told the rest of the Hand how I wish to depart... and they held no objections... Sithis shall hold no misgivings in you carrying out my last rites. I do not wish to make this an order... Lucien... it is an old woman's final request... please, child... set me free."_

_"Speaker Dieudonne...-_

_"Valeria... Lucien. You have never called me it... and I wish to part from your company as the equals we have always been. Valeria... especially now."_

_"Valeria... if this is what you desire... truly desire... I will see it through... but first, I must speak my own mind... must say something, as the equals you believe us."_

_"Yes... Lucien, please... tell me what is on your mind."_

_"Before I do this... you must know a truth... you told me, earlier, that Arquen is my true mother... and that you have regretted not bringing me into this world of Darkness... but the truth is... you are also my mother, just as greatly as Arquen, and the Night Mother herself... you have been my mother from the moment we met... and I have come to love you for all you have given me. It is not important, that you didn't give me the offer... what was important, was that you embraced me as a son of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary in spite of me not having been approached by you... if Arquen is figuratively the one who birthed me into this world... it was you who gave me love regardless of that fact. You did not allow your regret to detract from your love, love you hold for all Brother and Sisters... you gave me so very much in the time we spent together... contracts, lessons... the opportunity to make something greater of myself, to experience another life travelling north... and above all... you gave me Arquen... without you, I never would have been able to know her... by extent... I am your child... every bit your child, as you are my mother. I am blessed... truly blessed... to have three of them... but that I must kill you... I am not hesitating... but... this is another thing you give me... something I have never performed... I will be changed by this act... perhaps that is why you have given it to me... a final lesson. Still... I wish only one thing in turn for the performing of your wish... that leaving, you understand now that you had nothing to regret, nothing to fear, in regards to who gave me all... this. You have all given me something... and I am forever in your debt."_

_"Thank you... my child... I... I had not considered it like that... thank you... but consider your debt paid in full... with this final burden I give you. I am... I am ready now... Lucien... ready to return to all I love who have already gone on before me... ready to serve again whole and healthy... and ready to await your own journey to the Void. Come closer, child... and give me your hands. These hands have loved... maimed and destroyed... and shall always serve the Brotherhood, just as surely as my own. A new life will come to you with my death... a life of not only killing... but healing, helping... delivering souls like our own into the Dark Family... and giving them everything they need. You will possess two faces... you will create now, not only destroy... you will carry His word... and fill the ranks of the Brotherhood, with loving family members, repairing the damage Greywyn loosed. Take care of them... take care of them all... as much as you will Arquen... and take care of Blanchard for me... he is yet young, as you have been... but he still holds such potential. As your Silencer, he shall be yours now to watch over as well. It will all be new to you... but you will love it as greatly as I did the first time... you will be responsible for each and ever one of them... and must do everything within your power to protect them... to be their father. I leave also to you the key to my other home... if you so choose to call it your own... it is with my robes, over in the dresser. Bring your family together, my child... bring them together... and give them peace."_

_"I shall... my mother"._

_"Good. It is time... Lucien... please, move me from this bed... I will not die laying down. Not ever."_

_"Yes, Valeria."_

_"...thank you... I feel safe with you... I would have no other carry this out... for there is no other I trust as greatly"._

_"You honour me... Valeria... when do you wish...-_

_"Shhh... just hold me, my child... let me relax in your arms... you choose when... let deliverance come when it may. Until then, I am yours."_

At last, Lucien saw nothing any longer of the world they had each inhabited together. Lucien did not know where he was, but the pain, the incomparable agony was slipping away with the faces somewhere above, until it and they were altogether gone, as well as the echoing of his heartbeats, a distant memory and time untold millenia prior as he slipped down the corridors of a frightening, vivid new world that his deepest and most passionate conjured dreamscapes and nightmares could not begin to even formulate. He was rendered an infant before the sprawling greatness before him. His hand was somewhere close by, detached somehow yet still he could feel it, still very much intertwined with the Night Mother's own as She whispered encouragingly, guiding him onwards to meet the One who had always awaited him... the One who waited with everyone he had ever known in the eternal Void... his Maker. Lucien's eyes peered sideways to her... and his soul trembled and quaked as he gazed upon the beauty that was Her. She was by far greater than anything he had thought She would be. At the last moment when His all terrible languid form loomed nearer, a form of which the mortal mind could not truly conceive and would surely splinter and break at the seams if it could, She stopped them, and pulling him close, kissed him intimately. Lucien felt Her cool, soft lips taking hold of his own, invigorating him with something greater by far than life... and wrapping his own detached limbs about Her wraith-like, pure form... he returned her passion for all he was worth.

It lasted forever and for an instant... and he never wanted to let go, until his desire was dwarfed by the overpowering presence of that Other. Her loving hold upon Lucien reluctantly released it's self, and She moved back, transferring him to another distantly familiar hold he had felt before each looming kill, yet now infinitely more powerful and overwhelming then even the most powerful of those times, the Final Source and Arbiter from which all Dark pleasure was and had ever been derived. The True God. Padomay. El. Akel. Is Not. They were some of the many names throughout the world attributed to Him... but only one captured Him in a way the others could never hope to. Sithis. She whispered final, tender words of gratitude for following through as he had with his sacrifice, his scarcely rivalled courage, and Her proudness of him as She drew backwards from Her Home and to the realm of the living wherein her children required Her. She whispered words to them _each_, Her latest destroyed child and Her true forevermore Lover. Lucien peered unto Him, His final form, and knew then indefinitely just how vague and rudimentary... how pale, their earthly interpretation of His being merely a skeleton had been, and how truly miniscule the world he had once occupied had been.

And as he gazed upon his Father, he remembered a reunion... one he had not known to be at the time it occurred in.

_"It is a lovely chill... is it not? Colder than the Evening Star... colder than this seaside air. The sensation of shock... of fear, racing down your spine... of finding an intruder cloaked in darkness hovering over your bed... yet the confusion when they doesn't strike, in spite of ample opportunity to do so. Fear... is beautiful... but you have no need for such on this lovely night."_

_"...who are you?"_

_"We will get there, Mister Bellamont... but first, let us address something related... why I am here. It's something... the murder of a negligent father... I am very impressed... certainly, the Mother is... the Dread Father is... or shall we say, your true Father, Sithis."_

_"Sithis... I have... heard that name before... and this... mother... the Night Mother? You are... from the Dark Brotherhood, then. You've finally... you've finally come, after all this time..."._

_"Ah... it is always delightful to meet one so quick, one so ready and willing... you have wanted us to come to you... and I am here, prepared to give you an offer I feel one as capable as yourself will be unable to refuse... a chance to bring further bloodshed and misery into the world, while preserving your own. You have been given an invitation, my child... to join my Dark Family... to receive everything you have always wanted... I feel certain you are more than tempted... or am I wrong?"._

_"I don't... I don't think you're wrong... please, continue your... offer, Mister..."_

_"It's Lachance, Lucien Lachance, Mathieu Bellamont... do forgive my manners, I should have perhaps given my name right away."_

_"...Lachance..."_

_"Yes... I am a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood... it my duty to seek out rather talented individuals like yourself, and give them the acceptance they have always craved... to sate their innermost desires... and you are no exception. I see a great deal of interest, my child... let us continue then... for there is another you must deliver into our Father's waiting arms before your initiation may come, before your induction into the Cheydinhal family... is complete."_

_"..."_

_"Do we have an understanding, my child?"_

_"Yes, Mister Lachance... I am... I am listening."_

The Night Mother's presence slipped away from them at last, and they were alone together as they had never been. His monolithic shadow descended over and through him, enfolding him upon all sides as Lucien was pulled down to some unknown depth in time, past even the endless space of a trillion trivial worlds and stars and the infinity that lay beyond... and the Void swallowed him at last in its eternal, loving embrace.

In the flourish of their collective blood thirsting, their near state of fugue, the Speakers of the Black Hand did not yet know of this journey his soul had departed upon, and did not particularly care. Arquen continued to feed her unquenchable appetite and hazy thirst upon her lovers empty body, taking mouthful after mouthful of his insides while Mathieu cut on through the layers of sinew and muscle and revealed half of Lucien's ribcage. Amidst this, Banus at last peeled away the remainder of Lucien's scalp, exposing the skull and its layers of red flesh beneath, casting it aside on the floor while the blood flowed from all over, spilling down from Lucien's severed artery's within his throat and every other gashed spot. The ravaging and desecration continued more vigorously as Arquen dropped Lucien's partially consumed knot of entrails back down atop him, climbing on to his body and straddling it's hips as she had the living lover she now extinguished, taking her soaked blade and moving it to his mouth, while her other hand parted his slackened lips and jaw. She reached down within its dark confines, drawing out the tongue that had belonged to the Black Hand's finest Speaker, and promptly severing it, grasping it as she had the entrails before ordering Banus to bring forth the bundle of rope he had brought along.

Banus, his breathing by now uncontrollable, did as he was bidden by the elder, though it took him a time to get around to it, in the midst of his own excitement... and as he obeyed, Arquen, still knelt astride upon Lucien's corpse, her robes soaked through by now and her hunger more overwhelming than it had been any time prior in her existence, those times seemingly washed away in the purity that was this greatest of all ecstasy's. She fixed her gaze upon Lucien's unattached tongue, a tongue she knew so very well, and she consumed it next with a low, nearly feral growl, bite by bite, tearing it to pieces amidst another spray of leaking blood and savouring it even in the lurching of her fevered mind as the others watched on, Belisarius visibly shocked and partially entranced at the depths of her Dark ways, Mathieu, himself working his blade now up along its path to Lucien's silent heart, pleased with the sight. Banus brought the rope over, and at last, Arquen climbed off Lucien's naked, scarred and mutilated body, so as to allow Banus to tie up his arms behind his back, as well as envelop his soaked legs in the bindings before securing the remainder to a section of the roof.

Mathieu finished up his incisions as the others rose to their feet, his hand violating the interior of Lucien's chest and removing the still heart within and holding it down at his side and gripping it tightly. Banus and Belisarius hoisted Lucien to his bare feet as though he were some kind of stained and soggy marionette, his limbs dangling as uselessly as his intestines, and bodily fluids flowed freely in a storm to the already wet floor beneath them. Arquen stood in the midst of these liquids, all but dancing in her dizzying excitement, panting. Her breast heaved unceasingly as she and Mathieu watched on, each of their boots soaked like the near entirety of their robes, yet none so soaked as hers, while Lucien was hoisted upside down by his feet upward, until, the ropes being secured more tightly, he hung dangling from the ceiling helplessly, facing each of them.

As one, Belisarius and Banus stepped back away from Lucien, the splash of their footfalls echoing through the home as if through the rain, and together the four examined the quality of their skills, of their handiwork. Mathieu Bellamont's cold gaze turned to the unbeating heart in his hand, and the faintest of smiles touched his thin lips at last. Lucien's empty eyes, even from an upside down position, continued to gaze back at Arquen who had gathered up his mended discarded robe, and even amidst her mind brimming with hunger, the unblinking nature of them pierced her like a sword, and a glimmer of alien disquiet passed over the Altmer. Taking another breath, she smothered the feeling and once more fed her desires to alleviate this disconcerting sensation.

While the other three watched, Belisarius's and Banus's excitement gradually dying, Mathiu's excitement almost entirely internalized, Arquen paced up the soaked stone floor and knelt to one knee before Lucien, her glinting eyes, like her teeth, taking in his final form. Then, she latched herself onto the side of his face like a leechthing, and rabidly tore loose his cheek with her unnaturally long and sharpened grip, freeing it from his face, followed promptly by the shredding of the second, and she sat for a moment finishing up her bites. At last when she had consumed the soft tissue, kneeling again, she rose the bloody dagger from her side and with perfect surgical precision, placed the tip into the corner of one of his eyes and severing the optical lens within. The plucked eye fell into her waiting, outstretched hand as the fluids flowed in quick pursuit. Doing the same of the other, she left him truly sightless as he was voiceless, re-sheathing her dagger promptly and studying the pair gazing back at her from the palm of her hand. Her opaque teeth gleamed in a tender, loving smile, and the others watched again, two of the Speakers again with some measure of discomfort that surprised even themselves, as she took him into herself all over, popping his eyes into her mouth as though they were simple grapes and devouring them. With this gesture, her appetite was just about abated at last... but her gaze fell at last upon his thin, stained lips... and while the others oversaw the exchange, thinking these would be the next to go, her intent was already far more clear to herself.

Lowering her hooded head closer to his mutilated one, she took his lips into her own, kissing him as she had done while he lived, her manner tender and affectionate, a slim tongue gliding over the spaciousness that had formerly held another. At last her bloody face retracted from him, her soaked glove still stroking his own mauled one, and she whispered to him one final time, cooing as she did so.

"I already forgive you, my love."

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><p><strong>Lucien's death, as interpreted by me. I'm sure there is much you all would like to know about this section, so I will begin my lengthy author notes for the chapter. This will perhaps be longer then any of my other notes, so I'll present it piece by piece, give it some structure, instead of presenting it all at once.<br>**

**1)_ The Draconis Family:_ I was unsure how to begin this chapter... I didn't want it to be Lucien right off the bat, I needed something to lead into the current predicament... that's something I like to use as a writer, finding a way to smoothly transition things, and I believe I found the perfect route for this chapter. It struck me as fitting that the site of Lucien's death would be the home of a family murdered at his behest, at the behest of the Night Mother, such as it was for his killing of his own Family. Two family's infinitely different, yet somehow similar... at least in regard to the love both family's had. It also seemed intriguing to me, the idea of how diverse, different from one another, each member of the Cheydinhal family and Draconis family were from one another. I wanted to draw up a comparison between these family's, both dead by violence... both dead at the whim of Sithis. It's tragic in a way I guess... how violence begets violence... but it just seemed to work. Lucien dies in one of the many places of his sins... what he has ordered has come back to him, and apart from the Silencer, soon to be Listener, the original family was entirely destroyed, like the Draconis'... essentially a bloodline severed. There are few things more final than the death of a family, and I needed to highlight that, that it holds true no matter the family, good or evil... it leaves a mark in the world.  
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**2)_ Arquen:_ I know many people, many fans of the brotherhood despise her... but I needed to make clear some things with her, her unreasonability. Arquen, for better or worse, did not know Lucien was innocent. She thought him a traitor, the traitor... and she was deceived, deceived by the night mother, Sithis, and herself. It seemed clear to me that her insanity was the root of this, this weakness of hers, that once she sets her mind on something, she pursues it... this is both a strength and a weakness, I believe, and she has held this trait dear. After all her time with Lucien, yes, she should have accepted his word instantly, trusted him... but she couldn't, because trust is not truly in her nature. She has been incapable of achieving true understanding of others... only her belief that she did. Arquen is delusional, blinds herself to so much, suspends a world of make-believe around herself... and has done so for some time, since before she came to the brotherhood, to make up for her pain... and even after joining the brotherhood, taking down this make-believe world could never be accomplished, it followed her everywhere... until perhaps now, that she has killed her soulmate. She will learn, now after all this time, she will learn. Lucien has tried to teach her, but only his death will accomplish this. For her blowing the door apart, I found this a more befitting entrance for her, despite the in game fine condition of the door. Arquen does not strike me as the type to use the door handle in a time like that... and her usage of lightning stems from how agonizing it is... Arquen wishes to give her victims the maximum of pain... and although she loves fire as well, I see lightning as more an obsession with her... an even greater element of power. Now, there is much in this chapter I have come up with regarding her... here I will speak of her pregnancy. It was my own idea... and I hope it works with you readers on many levels, it was in no way fanservice, but done for a number of reasons that made the idea for the best in my eyes. It is my belief that she has been unable to bear children... and has tried many times over her long life... only to fail. This is not the origin of her insanity, only an embittering of it, making it that much more worse. I thought it would be a nice little addition to her mental state, to why she does the fucked up things that she does, why she is like she is. She serves as a mother, basically, ushering in children into the brotherhood... but she could never have one herself... and this has continued to gnaw at her, fill her with rage at her own helplessness. This idea stemmed from adoptive parents... of course family and parenthood being a major theme of this story. It is brutal when a couple cannot conceive... and although adoption is a very great thing... it may not always fill the expanding hole of agony that is being barren. I know many people are capable of coming to terms with this problem... but I don't see Arquen as one of those people. In this chapter, I was at last able to unleash her, as opposed to hinting at her nature through diolouge and thought... this is her minus any form of restraint. I do not hate Arquen... even after all she has done... I still pity the creature that she is... and I admit, while many fans wished to kill her, I saw the most befitting punishment for her transgressions to be having to carry the weight of her actions for the rest of her life, both in her having to create the new Cheydinhal sanctuary, and giving birth to Lucien's child. There was a cut bit of dialogue for her in Oblivion that made it clear she felt guilt for killing Lucien, and it provided me a lot to work with. Imagine the guilt, day after day... imagine the child wondering what became of the father... what will Arquen be able to say? She utterly destroyed and consumed the child's father, providing nourishment to it, through Lucien's blood. I feel Arquen more deserving of living in a purgatory in the wake of Lucien's death... her only redemption now in the eyes of the Mother and Father is the raising of Lucien's, the true faithful son's, child, the repair of the Cheydinhal damage, and by now taking the role of guide to the next generation. Accomplishing this, pity will be taken upon her, and she will be forgiven in the Void. As the lone survivor of the original Black Hand, as the story states, she will deliver a lesson to those that follow. She will bear the sins of the old black hand. As far as the child goes, I felt it would work... that the Mother is the kind of being who would grant Arquen's greatest wish, true motherhood, in the cruelest way possible... and in so doing, teach her misguided child a lesson never to be forgotten.  
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**3) _Lucien:_ Now, I've read many story's regarding the scene you have just read, all the different interpretations... and none of them satisfied me. Many of them have Lucien begging, or screaming... and neither of these worked for me in the slightest. I immediately closed any story's that did this, reduced this great character into something far less... snivelling and weak. We know Lucien, and we know he would never die whimpering. Still, I needed to capture his current mental state in regards to his world being torn down around him... he has never struck me as someone afraid to die... but afraid for the brotherhood at large as the Hand is dismembered, and the dark children are all dying... and still he is unable to find the traitor and save the brotherhood. I had to show his concern and frustration in this regard... he is not unchanged by what has been happening, the entire incident... but he is not broken, he cannot be broken or succumb to weakness, because he is a man of the most absolute willpower. I wanted to keep Lucien as we have always seen him... a servant of the Mother, absolutely loyal and ready to do what must be done at any time... killing his own family demonstrated this in spades, he will always serve, every bit of him belongs to the dark brotherhood. Even as he received the most undignified of deaths, one we fans have felt deeply, I wanted to leave him with inner dignity, and show his courage. Although, upon close and unblinded examination, it is true that Lucien is despicable, cruel and entirely evil... I think what draws us to him is his personality, resourcefulness, power and charisma... things that have blinded many to the true nature of people throughout real world history... and he is no exception. In these regards, part of my characteration of him comes from the game Command and Conquer Tiberian Sun... specifically, the character of Anton Slavik, who serves a similar role... a great, ruthless individual whose life exists to serve. Lucien's years of loyalty have given him many things, and destroyed many others... and I wanted to illustrate such a suiting punishment for him... and what better than dying in the home of a family he destroyed, and at the hand's of his lover who will eat him, and a victim of his immense cruelty? Lucien is and always will be as much a bastard as he is magnificent a character, and he like Arquen receives justice in this chapter for all his wrongs. I needed to establish the link between him and Bellamont, make it significant... Bellamont is the personification of Lucien's sins, and Lucien does not hate him... for they are one and the same. Mathieu is what tyrants like Lucien everywhere create... and as such, Lucien saw it as his duty to destroy Mathieu, until corrected by his mother. There is then another issue I have addressed in this chapter... did Lucien fight back against the Black Hand? I believe Lucien's ability's to be substantial, given his time in service... and if he had fought back, I genuinely believe he would have killed at least one or all four of them. There came the problem... how would I let him die, in a very befitting way, while simultaneously giving a reason for his inaction, and still leave him with inner dignity? Lucien is a man of rigid self discipline... there seemed no way for him to accept death while he still had a duty to perform... this I had to ponder for awhile... but eventually it occurred to me. The only one capable of making him cease his actions at this point, the only one capable of telling him of his role in all the events and bringing clarity, is the one who has directed him his entire life, the Night Mother. He mistook his part at the end, but it was an easy enough mistake to make... Lucien is far from infallible, but he is still perfect to the Mother and Sithis. He believed it all came down to him to end the treachery, considering he created the treachery, but that role in Sithis's prophecy belonged already to another... Lucien's death had to happen, for many reasons. It will have a tremendous impact on the Silencer (Hero of Kvatch), Arquen, and the dark brotherhood at large... and it is necessary... at the end, he realizes this. As far as his death goes... I studied pictures of the in-game condition of his body, and added a few more things... I needed to make it as graphic and memorable as possible... and from the start I chose to show every bit of it... because to not do so, to cut away cheaply, would be doing a gross insult to such a great character... everything about Lucien is memorable, his long life, his legendary achievements in the brotherhood... and his death needed to be no different. I wanted it to stick with you. He dies, yes, and in terrible agony, but he will, as we know, return to continue doing great and terrible things ;). As far as his lack of screaming goes, even as he experienced the most horrendous pain of his life... I rather believe he has been tortured before. Anyways, I chose to reward him with the night mother giving him a legacy that will last, and Sithis utilizing him in another dire time. He is one of Sithis's finest, and always will be... and as such, will always serve when needed, no matter the role. That is what Lucien Lachance wanted most... to serve for all time.  
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**4) _Mathieu Bellamont:_ I realized quite quickly that Mathieu needed to say very little... he only needed to speak his judgement of his mother's murderer, and take a righteous revenge. His mere presence, after all this time, how far he got towards destroying the brotherhood, spoke for its self... and in a perverse way, I realized Lucien would appreciate that. Now, I read his diary, and it is quite clear he is insane, and at some points reverting to the little boy he used to be, so I maintained this... as well as his calmness, the way he tricked his way through the brotherhood. Just as his mother's head was enough to shake him out of his cover, if only for a moment, it seemed plain to me that his greatest nightmare, the man who has haunted every moment of his life, would be able to do this as well. I'll say it, I don't hate Mathieu either, like I don't hate Arquen... he is a wonderful character... and a tragic one. His entire existence was shaped by something that was entirely out of his control. Sithis made it happen, Bellamont Senior took the direction of his life out of his hands and Lucien murdered his mother... he was a pawn the entire time, a pawn of Sithis, which I will get more into in a bit. Lucien is a villain protagonist, in this story... it is that simple... he is not a good human being, but he is a likeable one... funny how that is with evil, and how much we will excuse based simply on a persons charisma. When Lucien killed Mathieu's mother, he basically in my mind became the boy's maker. His father, in a way the decrepit, weak Bellamont Senior could never be... Bellamont Sr was a desperate, pathetic worm, not a man... and Mathieu ultimately and ironically, despite Sr's wish to make him a man by raising him instead of his mother, did not make him a man. Could not, not being one himself. Lucien did. He brought him into a world of reality... and with reality often comes despair, madness and terror... chaos. Although his life was destroyed, his old life, Lucien gave him the means, the motive to become something far greater than even Bellamont Sr thought he could have... at the cost of his sanity, not being strong enough to cope and endure in every regard. Mathieu is what Lucien made him, and Lucien makes his children well... he is what Sithis wanted him to be. I feel sorry for him, the way all these people were directing his life... from mere mortals to the greatest cosmic entity in the elder scrolls universe. Simply put, the idea of fate and prophecy, things having to happen a certain way, is a kick in the balls, and that's what we have here in this story... fuck fate... again, ill get into that too when I talk the night mother and Sithis. I was driven to add that little mention of Mathieu undigging his mother's grave with his bare hands, sifting aside the dirt... because the image to me was a powerful one. In the Night Mother's explanation, I was inspired by his temporary relationship with Maria to add that after all the time he had spent with the family of the man who killed his mother, that in spite of his life long obsession with vengeance, with destroying the brotherhood, he was effected by the same thing that effected us who joined the family. He was momentarily touched by the love they shared... and began to weaken, wanted to settle down, and give up his vengeance... to let go, and be happy and accepted for the first time in his existence with people who understood him. He wanted to stop, to drown out his mother's voice, ala Norman Bates in Psycho. Of course, his mother's hold was too great by this point, and she claimed him in a way the family could not. He's a tortured soul... and to be entirely fair, in spite of all the mayhem he loosed, the irreparable harm he has done... he deserved his revenge.  
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**5) _Banus and Belisarius:_ I admit, I had fun with these two minor characters, and it just sort of came to me as I went along merely by looking at the two of them, each only having like one line of dialogue... but I got a complete picture of them. Both of these characters were so minor they seemed brought in merely to fill the rest of the Hand... so it left me room to invest humanity into them, character... particularly with Lucien's mental assessment of each... which I did by studying their features and voices. Banus struck me as similar to Arquen... bestial, excited to kill... near unthinking, you know? Though unlike Arquen, he seemed more the lackey type... an enforcer basically, with less patience then even Arquen... he must be directed, and can hardly think for himself, be independent. The way he described Lucien's death, he spoke with this exhilaration, a youth about him... he's the kind of guy who pretty much gets off to murder and the spreading of mayhem in the Mothers name... he just seemed so simplistic to me, and therefore was the same as perceived by Lucien. Lucien is very perceptive, and capable of seeing a lot in a persons mere expression and actions... enough to paint a vivid picture in a way... something in common with me... and as such, these two were no mystery to him. As far as Belisarius goes, and this has been laughed about and made fun of by fans of the brotherhood on deviant art... the man looks so goddamn bored. I had to highlight that in the story xD. He's in the middle of a scene such as that, and he is more than calm... he is almost devoid of emotions... hence being harder to read for both Lucien and I... but I found this did work, and match up to his tiny mention of being on administration duties and rarely killing anymore. The man is a writer, basically, a desk jockey for the most powerful assassin's guild in the world... and he's a desk jockey, because he makes for a perfect one. He's had a lifetime of murdering, and he enjoyed it... but when the time came for him to ascend into administration duties, unlike Ungolim... he didn't mind at all... he struck me as some kind of bureaucrat, he's one of the people who does the shitty paperwork that nobody else wants to, but he doesn't mind. Killing Lucien seemed to him a short break, as I mentioned in the story... if he had lived, you bet he would have got back to his desk and got back to work without any consideration for what he had partaken in. Still... with these two completely contrasting characters, I wanted to invest again the idea of evil having standards... I see them both as being equally entranced and horrified at what Arquen was doing... particularly her... uh... ingestion, of Lucien's nether regions. It's a man thing, that's all I have to say about that. Reading back over it, I think I nearly vomited when I got the full mental image. It just seemed like Arquen to do something like this to Lucien, and worked with the fact that such a region is no longer there on his body in the game. Her dismemberment of him is personal... he belongs to her... and in her rage, essentialy, all he is to her now is her property. I mean... Arquen is this being of great destruction, she is on an entirely separate level then either Banus or Belisarius, one partially similar to Bellamont's, and her ways are horrible yet beautiful with how depraved they are... still, even believing Lucien was the Traitor, I believed they'd feel pity for what was being done to him... hence their shock and Belisarius attempting to be merciful... even if he was more than a little late. Basically, I saw these two as good buddies... Abbott and Costello, or some such thing, complete opposites and foils for one another. It wouldn't be difficult to imagine them getting their own spinoff xD. It surprises me sometimes how complete a character can be formed in my head with such little info about them in the first place.  
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**6) _The Fatal Flaws of the Black Hand:_ This I needed to make clear... four of the five each had a fatal flaw in them, that when unified, led the Brotherhood to the edge of destruction. J'Ghasta's sin was ignorance, not paying attention to what was occurring around him... not giving the proper focus where it was due. Ungolim's sin was weakness... a weakness of character... he was worn down over time, and could not get a hold of himself. Arquen's sin of course was insanity... a great unpredictability... although beautiful to the brotherhood, insanity cannot be controlled... and can at any time burst out and be the furthest thing from helpful to the dark brotherhood, even with her deep loyalty. Uvani's sin was pride... for all the time he was forced to spend alone, and after all the terrible things that have happened to him over the course of his life, he has been trying to fool himself into believing he needs only himself... when in truth, no man is an island... that _I_ know. Now, I believe the Dark Brotherhood has experienced many times of crisis, and that some of these were the direct result of fatal flaws in the minds of the speakers and listeners themselves... as such, many lessons needed to be taught by Sithis and the night mother... but whenever each crisis has occurred, they required at least one powerful individual of the hand to represent them, to provide a counterbalance to all these volatile personality's... basically, they needed the one sane person, their favorite child or children, to give some clarity to these other men and women... for this black hand, it was Lucien. **This isn't all to say that the Black Hand is always incompetent, as the Night Mother referred to Ungolim's management...** far from it to be sure, they have the means at their disposal to be great, and more often then not they are... but human nature can get in the way, and at the worst of times. Humans are fallible... simple as that. The Black Hand and/or the entire Dark Brotherhood will always inevitably require a lesson, be it a harsh or kind one... they can learn for a matter of years... but inevitably there will come the time when members of the Hand will forget the mistakes of their predecessors, or pay no real heed to them... leading again to disaster, a cycle if you will. Still... although lessons are inevitable, we know that the lesson for the Hand in Oblivion will sink into the dark brotherhood for at least two hundred years... so in this case it will prove very effective. Yet... I saw it as a great irony that the one intended to balance out the hand, Lucien, was also the one designed to create the Hand's reckoning ;). It was a test... Mathieu never would have done as much damage as he did if the Black Hand had been unified and alert, as Lucien and Arquen desired from the start... but it wasn't... the sins and failures of the four overwhelmed them, as such, the end result could not have happened any other way. Still, there remains hope, as there will always be for the Brotherhood, and it has taken the form of the Hero of Kvatch, and soon to be the Listener, who will reorganize the Hand and create the most powerful one in century's... before of course dissappearing to take up the title of a mad god ;).  
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**7) _The Night Mother:_ Now, I will acknowledge it first... perhaps a discrepancy some of you spotted... there has always been the matter that the Night Mother will talk only to the Listener... and while this is true in many ways... I do not believe the rule entirely inflexible. The Night Mother knew that it was her direct intervention alone that would prevent Lucien from Killing Mathieu... it was foreseen that her speaking to him would be necessary... it was Sithis's will that she do so, and as such she did. The Night Mother is directly connected to the Void, Sithis's wife, and holds a vast amount of power... although by tradition the Listener must go to her remains to speak, I had no trouble believing she was capable of appearing anywhere and to anyone at any given time... she is a mother, and watches over her children constantly. Lucien, and every brother or sister for that matter, has felt her presence with them... she chooses to make herself known, but not usually through words... the exception in this time period being Lucien, out of necessity as well as love. Lucien is rendered before her nearly speechless, humbled by the aura of her presence... and behaves as I've never depicted him here, yet suitingly so... startled... nearly a child again even, finding it hard to speak, but of course, being the man he is... can adapt to this situation. Lucien has obeyed her every wish, and has performed in his life beautifully, without regret... he is perfect to her. Basically, I utilized the Night Mother in this chapter as the ultimate Deus Ex device for Lucien's story... just when Lucien believes he will save the Brotherhood, that he is meant to fulfill this as his destiny, he is stopped and given the truth... shown the things that have eluded him. Lucien understands at the end... he has clarity... and with that clarity, he was at last capable of lowering his weapon and accepting death, knowing the fate of the brotherhood is in more than capable hands... those of his loved protegé. It was essential Lucien feel terrible pain, and not have it taken away... for his sacrifice to be more powerful, to send a greater message, it had to be agony... I won't go so far as to say he was the Dark Brotherhood's Jesus xD but he is most definitely a symbol now, and even bigger then he already was alive. Lucien is legend now, and can never be destroyed... he is the image of what every family member should strive to be, among the greatest of the children. I didn't want Lucien to die alone, however... minus his killers... his Mother stayed close throughout, comforting him... and when he died, I saw the beautiful image of her leading him down the corridors of reality and never ending eternity, towards the Void he earned his place in. She does this for all who fall serving in her name... it is she who delivers each of the children to her husband. Still... even the Night mother is open to interpretation... to some... she can be perceived as scheming and horrible, allowing all this destruction to happen, when she could have set things straight by simply making all this clear and known to Ungolim, and to others who required these lessons. Which leads me to the open moral question of my next point:  
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**8) _Sithis:_ The central entity it's self... the first in elder scrolls lore, I'll tell you my thoughts about him, in regards to my story. Sithis is of course, everything that is chaos... he can be interpreted any way you see him as... and it is my belief, although he holds a faint favoritism for the Dark Brotherhood, a world wide cult that worships him and spreads terror and destruction in his name, I believe he is equally pleased watching his own children die as he is their victims. In a sense... I think Sithis is a chess master, manipulating all the pieces, all the people, and watching and savoring the chaos and fear running through them for his own amusement. Sithis, for all intents and purposes... and perhaps this is a bit crushing of a statement, considering how much his children love him... does not really care about them or anyone. They earn their reward of serving him in the void, merely because they are beings who have embraced darkness, and have amused him. This is the same entity who made love to the Night Mother, gave her five children, and had them sacrificed in his name... his love is something mortals cannot hope to comprehend. His mind is vast, alien and unknowable... in some regards, I see a bit of HP Lovecraft's Cthulhu in him in that regard... just to look at him would destroy you. He set all the pieces of this time in the brotherhood, the treachery of Mathieu Bellamont, like a game, and sat back to watch it unfold. He watched as Greywyn sought to replace the brotherhood with vampires, at his own word, and watched him fail and pay the price. He watched Lucien live a long life of committing horrendous murders, and was pleased. He watched as the insane Mathieu's trivial life of agony played out, one of many offshoots of suffering that Lucien created. Every person he kills, every person the entire family kills, creates agony somewhere... a sustenance of sorts Sithis thrives off of. Imagine it as though we are looking at the planet from space... and lights are flickering on all the way across it, pulsing on and off... each light is one who has suffered, each light is a moment of chaos and suffering... that is what Sithis craves most... he wants it all to continue for all time, never to end... hence why inevitably he allowed the brotherhood to recover. He set the pieces perfectly by foreseeing the births of both the one who would nearly destroy the brotherhood, and the one who would save it at the last moment... all so he could make the suffering of his children last as long a possible, before the game ended... until the next one, the next crisis, inevitably starts. The Night Mother alone knows what he is thinking... and as his wife, his matron, she basically has been elevated to his equal... therefore, her love is like his... something few can understand. Essentially, I see Sithis as harvesting his own children, raising them up to their peak of power, before bringing about the next crisis to keep the cycle going. Look, I could be wrong, I could be angering some of you other fans by hinting the night mother and Sithis do not care about their children... but that is still open to interpretation, hell, it could be that they are putting their children through all this pain for their own good, to teach them very important things... or it could be that they are fucking with them for the sake of enjoyment... sitting back and watching all this play out. It's up to you. The fact is, Sithis has no loyalty... no loyalty we can ever understand... he is the epitome and the creator of everything that is evil in the elder scrolls universe... but he and his actions are subtle... he is never at the forefront of history or events, he works through people, never up front or 'in person'... his influence alone is capable of unspeakable levels of destruction... and taking that to mind, can you consider what he could do if he ever used his full power? He created the Elder Scrolls universe... that alone should give you some idea. I chose to limit both my description of the void and his appearance... I thought it a better idea to keep things vague, but hint at the monumentous nature of each... while allowing you to form your own picture of them. If you have ever watched 2001 a space oddessy, which you should, the final scene where the astronaut is racing down eternity... i saw that in my mind and amplified a million fold, with the addition of Lucien, the Night Mother... and of course, the Dread Father... whose appearance I too, the author, can only vaugely picture. It's not about what Sithis looks like... it's about what he is and what he does.  
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**9) _The Flashbacks:_ I wrote Lucien's death scene quite some time before I wrote the flashbacks in-between the carnage... and while I was pleased with how it turned out, upon closer inspection during the editing process... it seemed a little rushed, and all at once. Like it was piled on to you. It just felt like something was missing... and then it occurred to me what I could do to alleviate that problem. Throughout this whole story, I have been... vague about many things, details, particularly about Lucien, the center of this story... I still believe vagueness can be useful and important, but at the same time as I delved deeper and deeper into these characters, the desire grew to flesh them out a little more, to show some more events, or at least, a peek at some of them. In my head I have sort of mapped out Lucien's history, and the history of many of the other characters... I have many ideas flowing... and I wanted to let some of them out here. I just seemed appropriate, this being the end of Lucien... that some things would come rushing back. I thought it fitting, that all this be taking place as he dies so horribly, that I give you a little more of his history... you get these important moments and times in his life as it all ends. I often find with writing it pays to leave myself some openings for potential prequels/sequels, even if I don't end up doing any... I like ending the story arc, but keeping potential for myself... and this story was no different. Bear in mind, in relation to how I depicted these scenes, that there would be much more to them if they actually took place in their own story, including dialogue and description and whatnot. The scenes would require rewrites, editing and additions... these were mere glimpses. This excuse was easy to make, with the fact that although Lucien is remembering, he is doing so amidst great pain, and as he dies... not all of it is going to be perfectly intact... there was only so much I could show, especially with the chosen format I decided upon in depicting these scenes, through dialogue alone. It just felt out of place adding a visual picture by describing the surroundings in detail and what was happening... I was doing that with how he was dying, and wanted to try something new... the depicting of scenes through dialogue only. It was good practice, and I am satisfied with the result. I will explain the contents of each scene, including the characters and things I have decided upon to give you a better idea of where it came from in me.  
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**I) _Lucien's Initiation:_ As you'll recall, I mentioned my interest in the idea of Arquen being the one to bring him into the dark brotherhood... as I have been with other details, I was uncertain about making a decision on it... but I mulled it over for some time... and it struck me as beautiful, fitting... and eventually, I chose to integrate it. Still... I wanted to make it a little different, put a bit of a twist on this event... and as such, I have Arquen sending him to another sanctuary headed by another Speaker... basically, a mother bearing a child and sending him away to be raised by someone else. I feel there is a bitterness in her at having to do this... she volunteered to help the Cheydinhal speaker with recruitment, as she was very busy... but she wishes to take him home with her to Chorrol where she feels he belongs. Also in this chapter, I decided at last upon revealing Lucien's home as a young man to have been the Cheydinhal sanctuary... again, it just felt right to me. Valeria Dieudonne, a name I came up with being as there was no name for her, is the Speaker of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary... the speaker before Lucien Lachance, the one he replaced, as mentioned in passing by Vicente Valtieri in Oblivion ;)... another tiny detail and I crafted a whole story for it xD I just tend to do that. I will get into Valeria in a bit, my idea in regards to her. I wanted this flashback to set the tone for Lucien's future with Arquen, to show their inevitable relationship and the chemistry they have. As far as who Lucien killed to gain the brotherhoods notice... that I did choose to remain unknown, other than a gender xD. I have an idea rolling around, but I didn't think it fit placing it here... because it struck me as a good moment to establish Arquen, upon Lucien's first meeting of her, as unique... intriguing, hence her own personal refusal to read into Lucien's background, preferring instead to earn the knowledge for herself. She sees relationships and acquaintances, in some regards, as a game, and doesn't want spoilers in a sense... she would rather test herself, by gaining the trust of the other person... and from the start she see's something very interesting about Lucien... perhaps it was the manner he killed with, which she had read about. Arquen would rather play a sort of predatory quid pro quo thing with Lucien I think at the beginning... when the time is right she will learn a piece of information about him, and then he will learn one about her... tit for tat, and over time, they will come to know everything about each other. Basically, I wanted to set from the beginning that these two had a connection... and what connection more personal then her being his Speaker... and adding a sort of confliction, when eventually he meets his other speaker, Valeria... because although both are his speakers, which is truly _his _speaker, you know? In a way, I wanted this chapter to set up Arquen in a brief segment, for although I did so over the course of this story, it felt right to do so from the perspective of when Lucien first met her.  
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**II) _Lucien's Admittance into Cheydinhal/First Meeting with Vicente:_ I see Vicente as one of the three living (forgive the term when applied to him) Individuals to have the most profound impact on Lucien in the past... those three being Arquen, Vicente and Valeria Dieudonne. Do not get me wrong... everyone he has ever met has had an impact on him, but I chose these three as the epitomes of this idea, they had the biggest impact on him when he was young, and new... and what we experience in our youth, the lessons, can stay with us forever. In this scene, Vicente and Lucien meet for the first time, with Lucien young, and somewhat uncertain. Although even when he was young, he was strong... Lucien is still unsure of his place in the world, I think... and as I showed with his interactions with Antoinetta, Vicente is the one to set him on a proper path, and give him the guidance he needs to become the man we come to know him as. Vicente basically gives him the directions to achieving self completion, and stability... and held a huge place in Lucien's heart... hence reiterating how agonizing it was to have to go through with killing him in the Purification... he killed his teacher, friend and brother, in the name of his mother and father... and although he went through with it, it was the furthest thing from easy. Also you will note, Vicente is the Master of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, a position Ocheeva will ultimately inherit... I rather think this fit, in a life as long as his he has performed many different roles and tasks for the brotherhood... apart from being on the black hand... he's a jack of all trades in a way. I rather think that after Ocheeva came along and showed her motherly manner and great care for others, Vicente saw how much she deserved the position of mistress and gave it to her, falling back into his role as an executioner. He's far too polite to hold onto a position like that for century's, considering his immortality, he wishes to see others prosper far more than he does himself, and Ocheeva earns it. Also, I had to keep him just as he was shown to be in past chapters featuring him: wry, intelligent and loving to his family... always having open arms to the latest children. He has been like this for some time now, and although he is still capable of undergoing change, these are qualitys in him I don't see ever diminishing.  
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**III) _Lucien's Return to_ _Cyrodiil:_ This scene was meant to represent Lucien's growth as an individual... as the past two showed his youth. As we learn from Skyrim, Lucien spent an untold time in the Nord province... and here I also chose to give my own interpretation of this, the circumstances. In Lucien's youth, having been apart of the dark brotherhood for a few years by that point, a time of crisis befell the northern family's, as crises have befallen many of the family's through time... and the Skyrim Brotherhood was under threat, being persecuted by a very powerful enemy... a Jarl of Skyrim, and as such, they began to lose family members in the droves, forcing them to call for help, reinforcements from the brotherhood family's of the other provinces. A great many Assassin's, brothers and sisters from each family were sent to aid the threatened family's and provide support, to keep the contracts going basically... and help fight a shadowy war for survival. Lucien, and J'Ghasta for that matter, were two of the brothers sent. In this period of war and conflict, Lucien spent much of it living in the sanctuary's and traveling through Skyrim for five years, basically learning everything he could in the savage land he had not been born in... as well as continuing in his service of the family's, carrying out contracts, mission's against the Jarl's army, defending attacked sanctuary's, and the list goes on. I see him in his early 20's when he left, and in his mid 20's when he came back. Eventually, the desperate crisis and war came to a close, with Lucien's assassination of this Jarl, with J'Ghasta's help. I see this as the same 'King slaying messy business' that he mentions in Skyrim... and I chose this to be the reason for his gaining of Shadowmere... it just seemed to work for me. I also decided to connect it to Valeria... and I hope this doesn't put anyone off... because yes, in a way, she has come out of nowhere as a character... until this chapter, I did not acknowledge this, did not acknowledge her. The in universe reason for this, that Lucien did not think of her... hell, i admit i can't think of one. The out of universe reasons for this can be explained... one that I chose to limit Lucien's innermost thoughts at certain points... and the other, the more likely one xD... until now I didn't come up with her character... for this I feel I have to apologize, at times just dropping a character into the story with no prior build up can alienate many readers... but I just felt the need to integrate it... when I was considering it all, all the pieces in my mind, Valeria just fit... I needed to do it, and I admit don't regret it. I see her as a woman with a very long history... even more so then Arquen, of whom I envisioned her being the mentor and 'dark mother' of... in a way, she connects Arquen to Lucien, which I will get on to soon. I named her after two character's from other fictional works... Valeria, a character from Conan The Barbarian. It seemed like a beautiful name, and worked with the fact that many elves have v starting names. Her last name of Dieudonne comes from Genevieve Dieudonne, a main character from the Anno Dracula novel series, a series that helped me with my portrayal of Vicente and vampires. The name is french, as it is for many Bretons in elder scrolls, which I think shows she has been married to one. I believe she is a Dunmer, an aged one... has experienced a great deal of pain, yet happiness... basically, a long life... has seen and done it all. In that life, she gained Shadowmere, for example... and as such passed her on to Lucien when the time came. Now, back to the story scene, the time of war was pure hell for the Dark Family's in Skyrim, like it was for Cyrodiil during Mathieu's treachery... possibly even worse, and on a larger scale. Basically, few of the sent reinforcements survived, at least in relation to how many were sent... and even fewer decided to return to their original family's... after five years of war, Lucien and J'Ghasta return, basically as war veterans who have seen and done more than most... and are no longer quite the same person. I rather think Valeria selected Lucien personally to go, in spite of his youth... she saw a lot in him. This was a huge period of Lucien's personal growth, and greatly helped in shaping him into the man he is. The whole thing screams of spinoff... but I cannot promise it will happen xD, I apologize again.  
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**IV)_ The Judgement of _Greywyn: Another plot thread I chose to detail, was Greywyn's capture and sentence by the black hand. As you know, upon being asked for his role in the event, I had Lucien decline comment... again out of my uncertainty how to play it... but as I went on, this too rolled around in my mind. Eventually, I settled on all the details. Here i decided Lucien at this point to have been a Silencer, and well involved in combatting the attempted uprising... and ultimately, the one to kill Greywyn... though at Arquen's urging. I also decided to have Vicente play a role as his own, that of a scribe, taking notes on what is occurring... harkening back to earlier in the story where I noted his interest in writing. Now, I read Greywyn's diary... and he believed in what he was doing... at least until; the very last vision he had. I came to the conclusion, in my opinion... that he ws not truly insane, that Sithis really was talking to him, given my own beliefs on Sithis in this universe. I believe Sithis was testing his worth as a pawn, and seeing if he had it in him to seize the brotherhood, harvest more of his children's souls for him... at the same time testing the vigilance of his original black hand, seeing who would win in the end. Sithis was fucking with Greywyn, sending him these visions, seeing just how far he could make it... for Sithis it was a win either way... on one hand, if Greywyn won, it meant many souls being cast into the void... on the other, if the hand won, it meant they were paying attention to their roles and doing what needed to be done... and didn't yet require any harsh lessons, the lessons they soon would. Really, it was a far smaller crisis in a way, then Mathieu's treachery, for attention was paid properly, and the hand acted quickly... the hand was united... Sithis was gauging the hand at that point... and this was the last crisis of that time where the black hand would end up succeeding in their tests. The tests keep coming, but with no specific time lapse between each, it is entirely at random... it could be hundreds or a few years before another comes... that is the point, he is keeping them on their toes.. while simultaneously satisfying his own desires. This chapter also introduces Listener Fargo, who I came up with as being the listener before Ungolim... I see him as a rather old imperial man... at this point in his life, slowly wasting away. This treachery of Greywyn proves to be the final judgement he oversees. He has been Listener for quite some time now, is very wise and devoted to their ways of course. The name comes from the comic book Judge Dredd, the first chief judge of Mega City one, Judge Fargo. In this judgement, I kept Arquen ravenous as ever... she is in many regards a character who undergoes very little change, though that will not be the case after she learns the truth, after killing Lucien. Arquen is pretty much a special torturer here, a well polished tool, that Fargo keeps handy and appreciates in some ways... she's a weapon basically. I also wanted to make it clear that there was strife between some of the family, particularly Valeria and Arquen, mother and daughter in a sense... yet another thing I will cover in another scene xD. As you noticed, I included Blanchard among the Silencer's listed, and funnily enough, is a silencer while his future master Lucien is also one. I did this to give credence to the fact that not all make it to the top, some stay in the roles they are best suited to be carrying out... it's not about advancement, as many of the family believe, it's about finding your place. I also wanted him to represent again the idea of evil having standards, mirroring the same treatment Banus and Belisarius also give Arquen as she feeds on Lucien... I see Blanchard as a very capable killer, younger than Lucien of course, but extremely talented... one has to be to be a silencer of course. Nevertheless, all the talent in the world don't stop him from seeing how very fucked up Arquen is with her ways... again, there is such a vast scale of evils in the world, but the level Arquen is on cannot be comprehended by Blanchard. Unlike with Banus and Belisarius, in this case Arquen glimpses the shock and disgust in Blanchard, and kindly offers that he excuse himself... an offer I see him wishing eagerly to grasp, but not doing so in the presence of Sithis, the listener and the Hand all at the same time... thus remaining silent. There is another character then that I have mentioned, Silencer Angelique. Her name comes from the Hellraiser movie franchise, a favourite of mine that helped me with delving into Arquen's character. I came up with her to be Uvani's Silencer, and had her injured in the fight against Greywyn... setting the roots for her future death, and Uvani's inevitable acquiring of Mathieu Bellamont. I believe that this injury contributed to her death, and that she was very, very important to Uvani, hence his going without a silencer for years, until Lucien attempted to fill the void left in him after losing her. I have used Greywyn in this chapter in at least two ways... one to show his remorse for what he has done, his shock to have been 'mishearing' his master after all this time... basically, he has become a near empty shell, his whole world was torn apart simply because he failed to carry out Sithis's will. Sithis has abandoned him, and will very likely torture him for the rest of eternity, simply for that. Yes... Sithis is an asshole xD. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. In a sense, he is virtually like Mathieu... a tool, an instrument of Sithis's... a puppet rather, bending to whatever He wants... but unlike Mathieu, he truly did love Sithis, and was still destroyed for it all. Greywyn was used and discarded. He is as pitiable as Mathieu. The second way I used him was to highlight the looming problems with the black hand that we the players of oblivion come to know... ironically highlighting that they too are apart of the game without even meaning to, and that they will cause as great of problems as he has, due to fatal flaws. He is trying to appease himself, while unknowingly pointing a finger at them and saying 'look at yourselves, you're no better than me'... and nobody in the scene realizes it. Just like with Lucien's execution, the main judge is not truly listening to him... judgement has already been leveled before it was officially done. I chose Greywyn's horrific death to mirror Lucien's in a way, save the location, for Lucien it was the home of his victim, for Greywyn it was his own true home... but more importantly, beneath the statue of Sithis, who was already very much in that room with each and every one of them.  
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**V) _Arquen and Lucien's Meeting:_ Here I wanted to make the looming problems and strife among the black hand more visible... Arquen is venting her frustrations to Lucien with Fargo, her old listener. I see Arquen as, although infinitely loyal to her family and mother, more than willing to speak out against the former. She does not break tenets, not in the slightest, but being so self-indulgent, crazed and prideful, is very opinionated. At this point of course, Fargo is dead, causing Ungolim and J'Ghasta to ascend ranks, and Lucien is kept a silencer. I see Fargo, as well as Valeria, as two of the balancing catalysts that have been keeping the black hand stable... and now one of the two is gone, Basically, the pieces are coming together that much more. At this point in time, as well as during Greywyn's betrayal which occurred not long before, I see Lucien as being about thirty. Arquen, of course, is eager for him to be at her side, and expecting this to happen... only for Fargo to not make this so. In my belief, considering who Fargo spoke to... his choice not to ascend Lucien before he died had nothing to do with what he felt about Lucien, which was only good things, but at the word of the night mother. The time had not yet come for Lucien to make it to the black hand... that much could only be done at the last moment, when the other balancing members of the hand moved on to the void... of course, there is still Valeria, for a little while anyways. J'Ghasta becoming a finger is also there as a part of this. He is to be one of the four with a great flaw, it has simply begun to take root... partly due to his relationship of silencer and speaker he had with Ungolim, and partly I think because of the war he lived through. Again, this is where it is all beginning to start... the black hand is being organized, influenced by the night mother and Sithis, to gradually take the form it will be in during the Bellamont treachery. Fargo as well as Valeria are setting the playing field for the next looming crisis... basically their final tasks while they live. Yes, they are in a sense bringing weaknesses to the brotherhood by dying and making J'Ghasta a Speaker, but he is also setting up Lucien's own role, basically a replacement for himself and Valeria, inheriting their particular roles of helping the hand run smoothly among so many differing individuals. Here I also wanted to demonstrate Arquen and Lucien's relationship, the form it took back in the day when he was her silencer. Again, there was just something beautiful to me about the idea of him being her child and silencer... they have quite a history prior to the events of this story. In some regards, yes, Arquen is the mother... but other times, such as this scene, it is clear that she is behaving like a child, given her instability, and Lucien is the rational adult... in spite of the hundreds of differing years between them. Arquen craves control... and when that is out of her hands, it is not a pleasant result. Still, here Lucien demonstrates the rare ability to calm her down... something rather incredible actually, the natural power he has over her, without effort, unlike with her, where she puts all her strength into controlling all that she can through a forceful personality. Lucien is calm, she is often the opposite. Where he is logical she is emotional. In many regards, other than their loyalty's, these two are opposites... yet as they say, opposites attract. Arquen covets Lucien, for apart from already being his technical mother of darkness, he consistently impresses her with his manner, willpower and intellect... the great things he has accomplished, despite being on the Nirn for far less time then she has. He is something new to her, a type of man she has never before encountered... one worthy of her. Lucien meanwhile is drawn to many of her quality's like a moth to the flame... the depths her darkness goes, and many other things she has told him of herself in their private conversations, which I chose not to get into ;), and ultimately, in spite of how much these two love each other, he ends up burning for it, as he had to.  
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**VI) _Valeria's Death and Lucien's Succession:_ Here, we go back to Valeria, the last member of the black hand keeping it balanced and stable... and here I have provided some more illustration to who she is, her importance in Lucien's life. Again, though it was such a minor throw away line from Vicente that I spawned her from, she developed in me at an astonishing pace... and just seemed to fit with the story, able to tie up some loose ends, and she belonged in Lucien's flashbacks. She wasn't in the story otherwise because she didn't fit, until now, where her character becomes relevant at the end. It is she who gives him Blanchard, her final silencer, her position of speaker and what will inevitably turn out to be Lucien's fort Farragut home. I see the fort as sparsely furnished until Lucien eventually moves into it, a place of meditation for Valeria, and out of respect, Lucien does not choose to occupy it until around the time of the Mathieu Bellamont treachery. It, the place, was essentially Valeria's secret, until seeing something in him, she shared it with Lucien, who inevitably, when a respectful amount of time passed, shared it's existance as well. Even as she dies, despite not getting along with Arquen for such a long time, Arquen is essentially her daughter, and she wants Lucien to take care of her... out of the love a mother has for her daughter. Her disappointment with Arquen does not change how much she has always loved her. Both Valeria and Lucien (as well as myself of course) alone know Arquen's entire life story... they know who and what she is, and they share a bond in that regard... and a weight. Here I wanted to have Valeria essentially passing the torch, not simply of her position and whatnot, but the role her and Fargo held, bringing stability to the hand. I believe Fargo left her with a set of instructions in this regard at the behest of the night mother, so they could be passed along to Lucien when the time came... setting the stage and leaving it on him to do what he could among them... keep them stable... and he does this, for over 15 years in my mind, performing wonderfully... but inevitably, as was supposed to happen, their flaws win out when the treachery begins, and Mathieu nearly wins. Just because things were set to unfold the way they did, does not mean it wasnt important for Lucien to serve his role among them in the first place. He, and all of them for that matter, needed to be the way they were and do what they did. Like the murder of the Cheydinhal family, I see Lucien's killing of Valeria, one of his mothers, as something that follows him forever, and another thing that has shaped him. It was fun writing these little scenes... the way they just seemed to work, and fit together so well with my interpretation of Lucien. There were so many places I could have gone with these scenes, so many other ones i could have shown that would have painted another picture of him... but I am pleased with the scenes i have chosen :).  
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**VII) Mathieu's Initiation: Nearly self-explanatory... but i wanted to set the link between the beginning of this story, the meeting between Bellamont Sr and Lucien, and this scene by having Mathieu refer to Lucien as 'mister'. Not in the teasing way of Arquen... but with all the trepidation of his father. Nevertheless... he is ready, ready to begin, and take down the monster of his life that is Lucien... with him none the wiser. The beginning of what is nearly the end for the dark brotherhood, and the best way to end the flashbacks.  
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**So... that gratuitous rambling about covers it lol. There are some things I may have forgotten to mention... but if you have any questions about this chapter, the characters, etc etc, feel free to ask _anything_, and I will reply with all due haste :). As of this point, there are only two small chapters left, bookends really, but important none the less. The bulk of the story has been told, and as I said earlier, Lucien will not appear again... but I feel I have exited him on a proper note. Still, I hope you are pleased with this chapter and the two that follow... I have sought to craft my own vision of all these events, a huge story... but sometimes an authors vision is not that of his audience... I hope you all enjoyed nonetheless... I wanted not only to write what I saw, but entertain as well. It bugged me for awhile, Lucien's death, and how abrupt it was, with no insight for the rest of us... and no interpretations among the many fanfics that satisfied me... with luck, this will satisfy some of you out there. If at least a few of you are happy with my story, as I am, then I have succeeded. Any reviews or personal thoughts are much appreciated... having received a few of them for my last chapter, I was greatly boosted, and overjoyed to hear how deeply the story had effected people, and hear their thoughts. Anyways, on that final note... see you next chapter :).  
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	7. Part 7: And in the End

_**Hello again to everybody, as I have promised, the story continues, albeit reaching its end. My last chapter got little attention, no reviews, but some favorites, so I'd like to thank those people who enjoyed it. Perhaps I have alienated many of the readers, with the choices I settled upon in the last chapter... my most ambitious one of this story... such things can happen to any writer... if that is the case, then I am sorry to have disappointed anyone... but I cannot say I am sorry for the way I have written, this is the story that formed in my head for quite some time... and after all the time spent with Lucien, I began to see glimpses of his life, what carried him forward to become the man that we know. I endeavored to keep some of him vague, open to interpretation, but I saw a series of events occurring that changed his life... I saw history, and a story. I feel proud of what I have accomplished, and even if it was not what some of you expected... I don't regret the path I took with it. Now, the chapters as I have said in the past, that follow, are more bookends than anything, and will be a fair bit shorter as such. This one will lead into the epilogue... and as I do for every chapter, I will explain some of this one after you have read it... so, here you go:**_

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><p>A single empty moment passed following the departure of her Listener from the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, and it was only this intrinsic amount of time required for the sickness within herself to manifest again and swell, to worsen, and she promptly discarded her torch into an empty holder upon the stone column beside herself. She turned, stomach surging and lurching as her golden face paled gradually into a nearly white rictus of a mask. Gagging and retching, bile forming it's self sickeningly within the depths of her throat and rising ever higher against her, she lowered herself to her knees on the floor in a weakened heap, where she promptly vomited. She continued to gag and heave as her body shook frantically, a recurring ache in her back returning with a vengeance when she had hit the floor, trying to empty each of stomach's contents, yet failing, for most of it, most of <em>him <em>for that matter, had already been very much processed. At last, barely anything would come up and join the spent spreading pile, her lips stained with a collage of bitter, now horrifying tastes, and as her nose ran freely she buried her face into her shaking long fingered hands and wept a muffled, loud release, attempting to take away every measure of the unbearable pain that had submerged it's self into her very soul, and failing just as quickly as the tears started to stream.

She howled and screamed like a writhing, dying animal into her hands as she had never done before, her eye lids seemingly stitched themselves shut against her while her useless shrieking echoes carried their way through the main corridor, reaching nobody or anything, save the creaking of an aimless skeleton forevermore shuffling through the corridors, and she was truly and utterly alone. Arquen's entire body shook as she wept, wailed, the weight of her actions, as he had known already, as he had even told her before so, only _now_ reaching her. Only now bringing the momentous weight of what she had done. She knew then what she should have known to begin with... that he had been right. Had been right about her, himself and _everything_... and she had killed him for it in her own desperate, demented beliefs... had _consumed_ him... had fed her own nocturnal desires... and her... her insanity, and in so doing, had truly and surely damned herself in the eyes of not only each of the other surviving children of Darkness, but the Parents themselves. Had damned herself as surely as the real Traitor himself now was, revealing himself in the midst of Her crypt and staining it with his corruptible presence, as Arquen had sought Her. The fear and awe she had felt, hearing the Mother's beautiful voice in her ears at last was quickly replaced by shame, upon hearing Her anger.  
><em><br>"Foolish little girl... Lucien Lachance served Sithis until his dying breath! The Black Hand remains tainted by betrayal! Restoration is impossible!"._

She had led them each to Her innermost sanctum... and in so doing, had brought the very source of the taint before Her... had offended Her... offended Her with her inadequacy, her uselessness... and her towering failures. Her actions had been responsible for Belisarius and Banus, for everyone and every thing else destroyed... even helping the final other Speaker end Mathieu Bellamont's reign of destruction and death had not been enough... would _never_ be enough to right the wrongs she had inflicted upon the Mother and Father in her haste to save the others, the wronging she had unleashed upon Their greatest child. There, in the crypt, when all was truly revealed... Arquen had listened as the Night Mother made known the prophecy... a prophecy forged due to the incompetence of her own Black Hand... save Lucien. _Lucien_... always the one with the clearest of minds... always the one who had known what to say... to do. Lucien... it had all been imprinted upon the newly anointed Listener's accusing, pained and cold eyes when they had returned together to the Sanctuary... when she had offered her own guidance from there forward into the unknown future... and her pale words of regret that could never sum the depth of what she felt in regards to Lucien, or what she had done.

Those cold eyes had been shadowed... and studied more closely the telltale gore stains dried all over her robes and the little bit remaining stained upon her still lips, as they had done already at Applewatch, though only now were their deepest meaning known to her. Her guilt was reflected back to her as though gazing into the depths of a crystalline mirror, and truly, she had hoped and prayed her Listener would send her to the Void... would strike her down just as the Traitor had been. Yet nothing had happened... nothing... the Listener was entirely through with murdering Dark Brothers and Sisters, no matter how guilty she was or how much she deserved it... was through with being deceived... and had merely left... be it to continue the Brotherhood's required tasks or any other, leaving her alone within the Sanctuary... and as its new Speaker. She should have known... and had paid no real attention when the Silencer had arrived with a musty old book and a rotted, severed head cradled tightly under one arm... the urgency of their situation having entirely overwhelmed Arquen... and seeing the remains of Lucien, the Silencer, by now a Speaker, had said not one word about it... and truly she had deserved to hear none of them.

In that ever silence it seemed, the Speaker had changed before them slowly... had donned Lucien's bloodied robes, and his hood, betraying little to nothing of what thoughts had surely been numerous and all consuming.

Arquen's gasping breaths scarcely died as she released a seemingly unrelenting torrent, a river of tears and agony, agony that could never equal that which she had put her lover... her child, through so pointlessly, agony she herself had felt in no other time earlier. The sheer stupidity of her needless tormenting of him. Her savagery. She hadn't even _listened to_ him... he had spoken, as calmly as he ever had, the way she had always listened to him before, and her mind... her mind had been made up from the moment she had deduced his seeming guilt, and she had not thought any further than that, then the possibility of being rid at last of the Traitor. She had done so in Chorrol... after J'Ghasta... Shaleez and Uvani... and had not been altogether certain... had been fearful of the very idea... had wanted to go to him alone and hear his own words, his sure innocence... yet hadn't... had instead allowed her other side to override her true knowledge of him... had taken it unto herself to cleanse the Brotherhood with an unthinking fanaticism she had always cultivated and thought to be her greatest strength

It had all seemed so obvious, even as her turmoil and pain had been unpalatable... had seemed all too clear that Lucien truly had been the only one capable of doing what he had... and all the signs had pointed to him, so she had ceased her letters to him, cut herself off from him, and had forced herself to take an action on her own, no longer alongside him but against him. She had gone to the others behind his back... the other survivors, to Mathieu, Banus and Belisarius, and she had promoted them, had promoted them in the hopes they would be able to assist her, in the hopes the Black Hand remain united, and had freely surrendered his location to them, grasping at their eagerness, grasping it as though at a life preserver, shedding away her layers of doubt. They'd believed her so quickly... that hearing their assent had been enough. They had each watched Fort Farragut for what had felt like an eternity, as little by little the Black Hand was being utterly destroyed abroad at the hands of his unknowing Silencer... and soon the waiting became too unbearable, and she had snapped, pursuing Lucien without ceasing, without remorse or thought, had led them after him to Bravil, where they had found the murdered Ungolim at the base of Her statue, the latest in what seemed would never stop without Her or His own intervention. While members of the Bravil Family took Ungolim away to be buried in their home, The Hand had uncovered traces of Lachance's presence... another thing that should have tipped her off, now that she considered it clearly... for he never _had left_ traces before... and believing him to have become sloppy in his haste, they had continued their full pursuit.

If she had watched Mathieu more closely, had paid more attention to the other three... had not merely written him off as an eager, faithful child as she had long ago done... perhaps... perhaps she might have seen his guilt as she should have, before it had been too late... but she hadn't had she? She had pursued Lucien with a single minded purpose, assuming his running away merely yet another sign of his guilt and had clutched on to the idea tightly, had at last found him cornered within Applewatch... and had...

...and had...

Arquen was dead... she must have been, everything within herself seemed to whisper it, to scream it, so why then did the pain remain in this way, continually mutating into an ever more hideous, agonizing form she could not combat? Why did she still draw such shaky breaths after she had wronged the Night Mother, after she had wronged everyone who meant anything to her? Why still did her heart beat while the other Finger's own did not? She should have died in Her tomb with the others... or preferably any other place, unworthy to stand in her Unholy Matron's great presence, unworthy to hear Her words first hand. Yet she had... and they burrowed into her in a way arrows or blades could not... the disappointment and contempt brimming in her Mother's cold voice. Deserved contempt, so much like her new Listener had rightly given her. Arquen wasn't certain how she had managed to remain so collected and calm within the tomb as She had addressed the Listener, had made known the contents of the prophecy to them each... perhaps it was because by that point, she was very nearly already dead within, save the terrible emotions swarming at the edges of her mind and threatening to overtake her once more, yet too numbed to break through at that time. Perhaps it had been that in the midst of her agony, her arguing thoughts and emotions, a calm had been summoned on the outside wherein they could thrive and fight, the eye of a hurricane... the storm. Her hollow voice addressed a cold, empty corridor.

"Forgive me... my Mother... Father... forgive me... I was weak, when you needed me to be strong..."

The silence was answer enough.

Still clutching her now throbbing, pained head, Arquen's gaze lowered to the blade at her side, that blade that had loosed the irreversible agony it had performed against her lover and only now that she realized it, herself, so scarcely different from her teeth. The nearly overwhelming desire came to her then to bring its stained tip, stained with Lucien's and the murderous traitor's blood, a traitor she had not been able to torture as she had Lucien for whom she had saved it all up for, and having been caught up in the sudden whirlwind of his cowardly attack upon the Mother and her own confused state. It was the urge, the strengthening urge to thrust the blade into her own stomach in an act of repentance and sacrifice for her failure, to present her damned soul to Him, her Master and Father and plead for His undeserved mercy... to torture herself first, perhaps, before the moment of death. It would be pain... as much physical pain as she could think of, yet pain that would never match Lucien's at her own hands... yet had she not always found solace and pleasure in such rudimentary pains? The suffering of others and herself always an elixir from which she drank and bathed every pore in.

How should dying whist pleasuring herself be considered any form of genuine repentance to He with His all seeing vision and all knowing mind that resided within all creatures born of Darkness? Born of Him?

The desire remained in her to end herself by her own hand, and always truly would... but only as a shadow, knowing already the futility and cowardice, the selfishness of the motivations for such a self destructive action. Selfishness that had very nearly destroyed it all... how could it help now? What use would she be any longer to the Dark Brotherhood, to her Parents, and to the new family she would need to bring together in the wake of the Purification? What use would she be to herself? To Lucien's name? How could her death serve yet the ultimate form of repentance immediately on the eve of her very failure, when she could raise her shackles and prove to her Father what she was... accept her fate... by shambling forward to the unknown. She held no further illusions, she would die, perhaps after further hundreds of years, perhaps within the decade or year... and there hung over her head the cloud of possibility He would never allow her into the Void with the ones she had loved... her old friends now passed on and her lover she may never again glimpse, instead being forced to wander some unknown road in-between the Void and the Nirn, within neither of which she belonged, at the end... unworthy to glimpse His final form.

She didn't know truly if it would ever be enough, if anything could ever be enough any longer to save her soul... but every moment of every day spent up to that point when death called and would cast away her lack of information and her uncertainty's, would be devoted to Him, and to Lucien... to everything Lucien had stood for and somewhere in the Void still did stand for. She would try more so than she ever had, and pass on to others the knowledge she had failed to hold on to when it had been more important than any other thing. He had been trying to teach her... to show her a better way... not a way that would take away who she was... but make her something entirely greater than she had been. He had been so young... but he had been capable of teaching her things she had never considered... he had wanted to show her something... the means for inner calm... perhaps... for stability of the ever erupting ember inside her... but she had never achieved it... not truly, and not in the manner she had needed to. She had merely believed that she had... but then, wasn't that one the story of her life? Peace found... only for it to slip between her fingers in a never ending cycle... as she either refused, or was _unable_ to see what she should have from the beginning? The lessons of her many years flew by on all sides... how many of them had she managed to reach out and grasp tightly, and how many had eluded her? She could have caught more... so many more... if she had merely opened her eyes... had _seen _for the first time in her life. In spite of everything... she was still a little girl... the same stumbling girl who had not been accepted, at one time... who had never managed to settle down, and have a legacy of her own.

Arquen breathed again with difficulty, struggling to regain some measure of control of herself, and only after close to an hour in the perpetual silence of what was still a tomb, able to do so to the smallest degree, her eyes reddened and dead as she struggled to her feet, and gazed down across the depths of the Sanctuary before her. Her own ways... as accepted as they had been in the time before now... as morally accepted as they still were and always would be, had allowed themselves to pass the Black Hand's judgement for her... she had created from her thirsting, hungering ways an all controlling entity that she would perhaps never be free of, no matter how hard she tried... an entity that made her decisions for her... but try she must... no matter what. Under the direction of such ways, she was a mere girl... by resigning herself to being a mere tool of that other... but perhaps, in taking charge back from herself... she could yet be a _woman_. There were no other options for her, for her soul, and the new Brothers and Sisters who would soon be around her within a new, alien home... new not only to each of them, but just as much to herself, for she would have to begin again herself alongside them, seemingly returned to her youth, to the beginning of her introduction to the Brotherhood, to try once more. Another chance... another chance to make up for her wronging and inadequacies... she latched on to the idea and clung to it, clung to it and fed it what amount of life remained inside her... praying this to truly be His will, and not her own hopeful misinterpretation of it. She would teach... but not what she had once taught... but what he would have wanted her to.

As she rose unsteadily to her feet, a sudden dizzy spell swirled over her fatigued, pained mind and threatened to send her back down to the floor, but she closed her sore eyes tightly again, and forced herself to remain upright until it had gradually passed on. What didn't pass was the recurring cramping in the pit of her stomach, and she clutched it exhaustively, breathing more deeply and slowly in the hopes of abating it and failing, breaths she would never again savour that were gradually, nevertheless, somehow beginning to relax in spite of everything else. At last, she sighed resignedly with a trace of a grimace, lowered her hand away, and continued to peer down the empty corridors, her many duties and pending responsibility's returning to her... duties for which her current exhausted, self loathing and agonized state could not wait for.

Plunging a hand into the depths of one of her robes pockets, she produced a trio of respectively crinkled letters... the final one's Ungolim had ever written to her, each with a child in need of a home... a home that was to have been Chorrol before now, but things had changed in the wake of the traitors destruction. _Everything _had changed. Cheydinhal would have to suffice them now, and would have to do so until the Cheydinhal Family was up and operating at its full strength again... until the Listener had selected three more Fingers to join them in a new Black Hand... a Black Hand she would scarcely feel herself belonging to, an outsider in the midst of what would have to come to be her children. She was the last of her own Hand... a relic... and the embodiment of past failure... but she would guide them, the way they needed to be guided... by an open mind and an open heart... not by her delusions. She would start with the first letter that had been set aside as the prior Fingers, her closest brothers, had fallen and day to day operations had slowed down, one in regards to a young woman... a Breton, as well as being a travelling merchant with a secret only a Mother and a Father knew of... then would come a young man... an Imperial, and a Khajiit. This trio, with her and the Listener, would have to form the initial foundations of the new Family that would live there, and Arquen would wait for more letters of such similarity from her Listener, after carrying out Ungolim's final orders.

The pain only deepened with the cruel irony the Cheydinhal Family's soon to be latest and first young sister came to Arquen in the aftermath of the Purification that had claimed _another_ like her... yet she forced it aside, forced it tiredly as she did every other burden, and focused herself upon what was yet to come now. Her role returned to her like her duties... a role that she had been carrying out for years, and perhaps would continue to do so, and in spite of the daunting nature of it, the weight of what her future might yet entail, she began to prepare herself to leave the Sanctuary for a brief measure of time. She would, as she travelled to bring forth the newest Cheydinhal Family's beginning, issue orders to the Bruma Family and have what remained of Lucien's body taken from the mountain city, from Applewatch, and brought back to the rightful home of the Family he had created and destroyed... unless the Listener was already seeing to that duty personally. When the time came... perhaps... she herself would find the strength to move into Fort Farragut... the home they had loved in and perhaps her only earthly link to him remaining, save his memory. _Their_ memories. When the desecrated body at last arrived to the Sanctuary... for all the horror sweltering throughout her... a horror and regret she had known not even once before this life had come to her... she would _not _look away, but force herself to gaze again unto its empty sockets and torn, consumed flesh, to preside over his burial, the burial of the only one she had ever felt this guilt for, and imprint ever deeper the image of him, of his final state, and that of the one he had first come to her in the years before the madness of the present, that she knew already would never leave her.

_"By the time we are reunited in the Void, Arquen... I shall have already forgiven you"_.

She would never allow them to go away... any more so than any other being could take the images of him from her. She did not want to lose these images. Arquen knew his word... knew he had always been incapable of lying... but did not understand _how _he might forgive her in the end, when she never would be able to do so of herself. Nevertheless... it was the only true hope remaining in her now... his voice... his word... and she trusted it, she trusted it now in the way she had not been capable of when he had asked it of her.

When it had mattered the most.

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><p><em><strong>Well, there you have it... on to the explanations. For this chapter, I needed to bring a sense of closure to Arquen in the terms of this story... she will be undergoing a change, just as the Night Mother prophesied... realizing what she has been doing, Arquen will now serve the role she should have been a long time ago... that of a guide for the Dark Brotherhood... not a dangerous, volatile being, as she has been. Here, she is forced to find maturity. I was greatly inspired by a few lines she originally was supposed to say about her regret for killing Lachance, which were cut from the final game... I have known they have existed for a long time, but I have been unable to find them exactly, to hear what she says, no matter how far I've looked on the internet... but their mere existence was enough for me to design this scene, taking place after we the player take command of the Dark Brotherhood, and leave Arquen by her own in the recesses of the Sanctuary, alone with her thoughts. I had to show just how much this whole crisis has taken a toll on her... she, like the Her of Kvatch, is changed by this storyline, for the better in this case. Arquen has gone through life without seeing the consequences of her many actions, being blind to such things... blinding herself to them... bu at last the Night Mother and Sithis have opened her eyes, and shown her how much more there was to her life, to her service of them. She has been shown the ideal path, the one that has always been so close to her, but has eluded her. Now... I don't see Arquen being changed to the point that she is unrecognizable to the elf we have known, but she is transformed... now more than she has ever been. I believe she will become a sort of motherly figurehead to the new Black Hand, in the wake of what has happened...she will not be so much of a weapon of chaos and torture... rather, I see her now striving to be what Lucien and so many other Family Members have been... a voice, ironically enough... of reason. Her remorse for what she has done to Lucien opens up an entire spectrum of grey areas for her... no longer is everything clear cut and easy... the open ended remainder of her life (and considering we hear nothing of her by the time of Skyrim 200 years past this, I rather think she had passed on to the Void by then) will be devoted to the management of the Black Hand, and the raising of her and Lucien's child. She is still a lethal killer... a serial killer even... but she has come to recognize the virtues of patience and self restraint... the ability to put her desires aside for a time, and do what is more important. The child of Lucien, the child Arquen does not yet know exists, I have chosen to give no identity, nor will I write of them... they are more symbolic, then a true character in this story... perhaps the representation of Arquen's newfound maturity... a child who will serve both as what Arquen has desired more even the her killing (motherhood, family of course the largest theme of this story), and a constant reminder of not only what she has done, but what she could become again without the rigid self control and the virtues she needs. Arquen has perhaps the greatest responsibility of all... shaping the foundations of a new life, instilling in it the same lessons all good parents pass on to their children... the lessons she has only now achieved knowledge of... as well as passing on perhaps a few of her own. The rumours, of course, shall follow her for the rest of her life... the same ones that she has at times hated, or thrived upon... as we know from the Dark Brotherhood Murderer, the dark haired Breton woman, who wonders if she did what she did to Lucien... even into the next generation, the rumors will continue, even long after Arquen has died. Arquen, from now to the end, will seek penitence, will live every moment carrying out the service her Mother requires... praying all along for forgiveness. As to whether or not she receives forgiveness... you know what? I rather think she does... and rejoins her lover in the Void, as he foretells... the answer to that, I have settled upon... the answer as to what becomes of Lucien's child, their role in the brotherhood and the family said child will in turn create... that, is your choice ;).<strong>_

_** On another note, I chose to include the mention of the Dark Brotherhood Murderers who come to the sanctuary after the Purification, because frankly even for small undetailed characters, they interested me, and were actually pretty cool, I brought the merchant woman around with me quite a bit I remember xD, and laughed when the rumors section of the Imperial's dialogue consisted of him being a fan of the grand arena champion, and particularly, all their fear towards the Listener: "S...sithis?".**_

_**As you have noticed, I chose to characterize the eyes of the Hero of Kvatch... to make them cold, which I think, works best, summing what the majority of us felt in the end... and have them simply leave... wishing for brief solitude from what has unfolded.  
><strong>_

_**Arquen moving into Fort Farragut just worked for me... she is taking up Lucien's role, and the role of her old Mistress Valeria, in every way, now... she is taking up the role as the voice of clarity.  
><strong>_

_**The title comes from the song from the Beatles, The End. The full Lyric is "And in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make"... a line I saw as fitting to the Dark Family, to the closure of this story.  
><strong>_

**_Anyways... there you have it. As always, any reviews, questions, discussions or comments would be greatly appreciated... I hope you have enjoyed this chapter, and will enjoy the epilogue and conclusion of the story in the next chapter. Until then, thanks for reading!_  
><strong>


	8. Part 8: Epilogue: The Cycle Continues

**Anna Valtieri: Thank you again for such a long, insightful review :) as ever, it was greatly appreciated. I hope you enjoy this chapter, are satisfied with the end and find it worth another review.**

**Well, here we are at last folks... as inevitably as it must be, the conclusion to this story. I would like to thank the support of everyone who has read and reviewed, reviews encourage any writer, give them the strength to keep going with their work, and I'm no different. Regardless to whether you reviewed, thank you to everyone who liked this story in any way. The story hasn't received as much attention as I believed it would get, but I accepted that some time ago... hopefully this story will be vindicated by history, and more fans will find and appreciate it as much as those who have already found this. I'm rather proud to have come this far, to wrap up my vision of this story, the Dark Brotherhood as I saw them, and add my part to the Elder Scrolls universe. As I wrote this story, I found myself constantly going back over each chapter before posting and adding more, finding something that I liked and constantly adding, editing, etc... I am something of a perfectionist admittedly, but inevitably I would come to my senses and realize I needed to post. Really, anything can be added to what you already have If you think about the story enough, but there comes a time when an author has to let go of that fact, and face up to the public, to present their work and see the reaction. Well, I accepted that and I'm ready for the reaction again, this time to the ending. I hope this conclusion I settled upon will be good enough for you all, and worth the buildup. As I've noted in the past chapter, this story technically came to an end last chapter, but this will be the bookend, and is completely necessary. I am pleased with the entirety of my story and feel this wraps things up well, and on the _right_ note.**

**Well, here we go again :), as always, do enjoy.**

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><p><em><strong>The Second Century of the Fourth Era<strong>_

"So... so you _don't_ hold any resentment against him, for what happened? Against _both_ of them... even after all _that_?"

"I do _not_... have I conveyed that idea to you in any way?"

"It's just... he was your _leader_... your _father_ really... you _trusted_ him... everything he meant, means to you. You _all _trusted him, loved him... and... I'm not trying to sound unfaithful or foolish, it's not that at all. I mean... I mean, the Purification as you described it sounded horrific... unimaginable... I... forgive my impertinence, I know he was- is, a great man, as you are a great woman... sorry. I am young and far too unworthy to be...-

"You are no such thing... your interest is more than appreciated, it is to be expected from you, especially given what has been occurring in the world as of late. I have been thoroughly enjoying these chats, you have no cause to fear offending me".

"Thank you, dear sister... I... it's just, you went through some very harsh, difficult times, times few Brothers or Sisters must endure, but you had the love of your family... but I can't help but wonder... what did you _feel_? It's not much of a question, I know... but what was it you _felt _in those times?"

The Imperial Assassin, at least still momentarily holding the title of one, watched his companion closely from the corner of his eye, attempting to convey every bit of the politeness he truly meant while together they passed slowly through the shadowy corridors of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, perfectly in step, as they had time and time again. In life, she had been a remarkably beautiful young woman, with short, well kepty light toned hair, and was still clad in the shrouded set of armour that was not unlike the kind the Dark Family's wore in this particular Era and time, save that the suit had been according to the history books, entirely black as opposed to his own, for it seemed to be the same particular tone of lightness all over. Even in death, she proudly wore not only this, but a sheathed dagger holstered at her side, forever at the ready to be readied and to rend. It was difficult to determine true colours and details upon her, be it her hair or attire, or even the entirety of her facial features, what with the ever present, pearly white glow. The glow was strengthened by a smooth almost shimmering misty sheen emanating from the entirety of her small, ethereal body... but in life she had probably already been quite pale naturally, the powers of the Void only extenuating this paleness, as well as her great beauty.

Death had not truly taken anything away from her, but had perhaps restored her to something even greater than she already had been... for in spite of her physical youth, the youth she had held when Sithis called upon her to come Home, and the occasional spirited mannerisms indicating this youth even further, for the most part, she was remarkably soft spoken, a Bretonic accented sophisticated voice at that, and extraordinarily intelligent, unnaturally perceptive... and the Imperial was frequently awed by her mere presence. To stand in direct contact with a being of the everlasting Void, a child's spirit who had once upon a time occupied the very Sanctuary he now belonged to, in a time where things too had been just as disquieting as they were now... it was... encouraging, to say the least, and greatly appreciated. She and the others of the Void, particularly the Night Mother, were truly the only divine entity's left in the ranks of the Dark Brotherhood... and the Assassin paid every bit of his owed reverence to this child who had preceded him with relish, giving every ounce of the respect and care she deserved. She was a talkative child... not unlike himself in times past, before the onset of his latest task... now it seemed that forming words had become more a mere necessity for the Imperial rather than pleasurable... for his mind was usually entrenched upon the quagmires of other matters, each vying for his complete attention, splitting him ever which way. The Assassin fed his stability on conversation, conversations wherever they could be found, truly hoping it could last, even as everyone and everything he loved now died about him at every turn in the road.

"What did I _feel_? Well... _which_ would you like me to speak of?", The Spectral Sister enquired of him gently, her gloved hands folded behind her back relaxingly out of her own human habit, and she fixed him with a smile lovely enough to make his heart flutter, pleased with the intimate nature of the question. "_Before_ my own arrival here in these halls, _after _my arrival or both?"

"Both, if you would be so kind, my dear sister", The Imperial Assassin answered quickly, himself returning a slight smile before peering back ahead to their path as a distraction, which was lit by ever present rows of torches and iron candle holders down through the winding hall of ancient stone pillars. The Spectral Sister seemed to consider this deeply, pursing her lips over the query, but the answers came very quickly, her voice high and clear as though she were still of the living, her connection to the Void not having distorted this in the slightest... though to be sure, there was an almost odd ringing quality to her words that flitted into the Assassin's ears... a pleasing one at that, the ringing of a chime, perhaps, seemingly reflecting her base nature. He was certain now more than ever it was an effect courtesy of the Void, when he considered it, and his past conversations with some of the others of her kind.

"Well... before coming here, I don't believe I truly ever felt an emotion _worth_ having... there was _pain_... hopelessness... unless mistaken, I think I've told you already of my life prior to the Cheydinhal Family... the lack of belonging I encountered everywhere I went, the abuses, the agony, travels that brought me only more of this, never fitting into any place I ventured to. Even my old home... and the 'family' I had there. Languishing in prisons, be they literal physical one's or the one's time had encircled and constructed about my mind... I was trapped wherever I went, in short, and whoever I killed until Lucien came to me, although satisfying, some of the most satisfying I have ever carried out, held with them a kind of... distance, from me. It is difficult to describe these things that can scarcely be spoken of accurately enough, for it is something an individual themselves must experience... but I'm certain you have felt the same way at some time or another. There was no... _purpose_, to any I killed, I was merely satisfying my own desires... but there was no higher purpose, no meaning for any of it, no matter how glorious I made their suffering to try matching my own, it meant nothing beyond that. I served no cause greater than myself. I was unimportant. There was no _true_ satisfaction stretching from my mind and pouring into my soul... something I had actually given up belief in by that time. Truly, there exists three things... gratification of the physical, the mental and the spiritual that must thrive in unison... and so long as these three are balanced in perfect tandem, one is, as few ever come to achieve, _complete_. I don't believe I had any one of these three before the Night Mother and Sithis came to me through their greatest child, a Speaker that I have loved since first he offered his hand to me... took me from death's doorstep."

"I was but a lost child, and frightened, so close to death when I was delivered more deeply than ever before into Darkness... and Darkness embraced me for all I was worth, and asked only of me my loyalty. The Cheydinhal Family, each of its members, gave me a knowledge the likes of which I had scarcely believed to be possible, each with their own unique lessons and ideas that I took to heart every day I resided there in happiness from henceforth. Then... came meaning. A meaning to be alive. The people I killed now meant something to me... they were a Dark sacrifice, a Dark Boon to the Dread Father who whispered His glorious images of pain and suffering of others into my ear, my mind, and my heart. At last, with this new found purpose, I could be the individual I had always struggled to become, and I returned whatever I could to the Family who loved me... the _only_ Family that had _ever_ loved me, for that matter. The years prior to them were all but obliterated in those moments, pale memories of stumbling through life I soon did not care to look back upon while I _lived_. Certainly, Family is of the essence of the soul, this was made clear to me, as it has been for the Brothers and Sisters _preceding_ me, and the one's _following_ me. I completed my contracts little by little over the months with my newly acquired skills, and that was the greatest time of peace and completion my living existence had ever known. I listened to the others, heard their stories, stories that developed me immeasurably as a human being, I read, I read more than I had even in that cluttered attic of my _beloved _Aunt's home, I read of the Night Mother and Dread Father and incorporated these alternate perceptions, these other interpretations of Them into my conscious being."

"Though uncertain of a great many things, the subject of our Mother and Father so infinity vast and unknown to me at that time, I knew what truly _did_ matter... that we were carrying out Their will... and that we were doing what _needed_ to be done. We were, as you are now, accomplishing tasks the Nirn shall always need us to. I gradually reached the rank of Slayer, as you know... and upon that day I knew myself to be an entirely separate entity then the tiny girl who had lay dying in that mud soaked alleyway. I was in the Cheydinhal Family long enough to meet the one succeeding me even, the one who, ultimately, was to send us to the Void in our Parents name to preserve our Family's righteous purity, in the name of the Black Hand. I will say this... regardless of how long I resided within _this_ Home, or regardless of how much l could have yet experienced amongst the living, had things gone differently... had not the lesson of Mathieu Bellamont have been a necessary one... it would have all come back to the same thing. I was happy... and I still _am_ happy... and not once, not even as my soul flitted across its path and was embraced by He who walks behind the rows of children, who resides in each of us, He of which all Darkness exudes, spawns...did I believe that Lucien Lachance had _wronged_ me... had wronged _any _of us, even when I learned the full contents of the Prophecy."

"We each carried out our respective parts in it, he to usher in this time of treachery in the form of Mathieu, and to guide the one who would become Listener, while my own, while the role of each of us in Cheydinhal was, in turn, to touch him, as well as the future Listener, with our mere existence... with having known us, with passing along the tale and experiences of our own lives and in so doing furthering them along their respective paths, encouraging them forward. Some may believe it is better to not be loved, then to be loved and lose those who do... but that was not Lucien Lachance. While young as I was, my story mattered to him... and he took it to heart, and loved me for the being that I was... and not once looked upon me as being any less than him... merely different, as we all are. The Cheydinhal Family was rejoined within the Void, together even in death, and together we have always remained, be it residing there or carrying out our Father's will in _this _realm... no matter what happens, we are each together, and in constant contact... I hear at any given time each of their thoughts, the Dread Father's Will, and the thoughts and feelings of every other soul residing in the Void. We watched as Lucien struggled to discern the Traitor's identity, and to end the madness he unleashed... we watched him, glimpsing in him our profound effect, and never once were we angry with him for what had been our destiny, for is not the destiny of one merely a single piece of another's?"

"We watched him meet with a fate more gruesome than most mortals can hope to conceive... and meet it at the hands of the one who threatened the entire Brotherhood, and the mortal he had loved beyond perhaps all others, Speaker Arquen as you know, a mortal I too had met briefly before my death. When he came to us again at last, and our Family was rejoined together... all was as it had been before, yet far greater. Well... almost rejoined entirely. I must confess something that follows me, even now with so much revealed and opened to me with these powers... I do _not _know what fate befell the Listener, the one who has blessed me and the others with the Void. No more so then any other once mortal soul within the Void does. I believe this to be something known only to the Dread Father and Unholy Matron. I am certain you've already read up upon the history of that time... the era of the Oblivion Crisis and what followed, when the Listener, at the behest of the Mother, selected another to carry on... but truly what it was that made that Listener disappear, is as open to interpretation as any other particular opinion. Ultimately, although saddening not to feel the Listener within the Void along with us, I cannot help but believe they still yet exist in some form, in some plane of existence... out there... and I pray that one day the Cheydinhal Family of my own time will one day be truly reunited."

"Regardless of this... I go on, we _all_ go on, and we carry forth the Dread Fathers will... a will that is the reason I and the others still, though in different forms, reside within this home as you, the living, now occupy it. So... as to what I _feel _in this particular moment... I feel more complete than a great many beings ever come to know without the envelopment and eternal love of the Void".

By now, their footsteps had carried them down the length of the main hall, around the looming corridor and slowly over the staircase prevalent there... at the base of which one of the Sanctuary's few remaining brethren, an Orc, who sat on the floor, leaning against the wall tiredly, deep in discernible thought. The Orc resided within his own heavily battered and torn set of shrouded armour, the hood still adorned, his face veiled in darkness at the angle he sat from the torches shining overhead. He was shaken from his thoughts by the passing of the two, and immediately rose, towering over them, back up to his feet, wearily forcing aside his exhaustion and feigning calm. The Orc turned his gaze to them, presenting the sole remaining eye in his head, his left, which it's self was very blank and tired, and the terrible, somehow even after over two months, scarcely healed wound running down and over the length of the other, empty socket. Respectfully, Garnag inclined his head to his closest brother, and then to the Spectral Sister accompanying him, this courtesy promptly returned to the worn down, brave brother that had, for the time being at least, saved the dishevelling Brotherhood, had brought to them the Unholy Matron's own tomb... hidden away now relatively safely in the darkness of Speaker Rasha's quarters. In what had become a most alarming occurrence, however... Rasha scarcely ever left his room, Her shrine, any longer... if he had succumb to some form of madness, then it meant a leaderless Cheydinhal... a thought that did nothing to improve the Imperial's withering spirits, and one he prayed not to be the case. Perhaps the Speaker's decision over the Imperial's upcoming role was apart of it... an attempt to stave off understandable madness... yet he did not know... he knew so little, for the rumours that had once circulated, swirled throughout the Brotherhood were dying every which way... with so few left to carry them about. He could not imagine the burdens of Rasha and the others in this time... but then, he perhaps would in the very near future.

Rather than joining them in conversation, however, as the Imperial had hoped he might, Garnag simply lowered his hooded head slowly and moved on, passing them on the stairs as if in a dazed stupor, a sleep walking that rivaled that of the Sanctuary's ancient Dark Guardian. The Guardian it's self for that matter, was shuffling from further down the corridor, and from the sounds of it, towards them. The Imperial Assassin tried to catch his favourite brother's gaze again, to convey his best wishes... his sympathies... but truthfully, the shroud had been hanging for too long over the Sanctuary as it was... and the Imperial felt far too worn down to even form the strength to display this action, knowing Garnag would understand, yet hating himself for it. It was tiring enough merely raising the quill to the papers of his journals in these long days... only the contracts, contracts he would no longer be able to carry out soon, of any source of revitalizing energy... well, that and the conferences with those of the Void he had been partaking in. The Spectral Sister led him further down the dimly lit hall as Garnag's shuffling, limping footfalls faded away, passing away from the staircase and continuing on, until at last, she stopped him at the very end of the corridor, beside a pair of great stone doors affixed into the wall that had once been, and sometimes still was, the Private Quarter's of Vicente Valtieri. Sure enough, the ancient, frail yellow bones of the Dark Guardian came into sight next, and before stopping in front of the door, his eyes briefly studied the featureless thing pass them, that had once been a man. The majority of it's frayed, shredded armour had long ago rotted away, with only a portion of it remaining, and nearly encased in dust. The armour was no longer a vibrant black of the night, but a dark withered grey husk at best... its boots remained... the strings trailing the ground behind them... though the knee pads and soles, from two century's wondering had ripped off, and it was now reduced to scraping its bared foot bones across the concrete it had passed over perhaps millions of times. Other then that, the only remaining bit of armour hung feebly yet defiantly on to its chest... a series of straps dangled weakly over the front, no longer tightened up in buckles... it's shoulder pad was gone, and there lay a massive rip through the layers of armour, so far through it resembled a vest more than protective leather any longer. It's rib cage was exposed for all to see... many of them missing, leaving the effect of possessing a gaping hole in its stomach peaking through the armour Still... the fact that it had kept on and together for so long was one that quietly impressed the Imperial... and spoke wonders of the great Necromantic work that had been performed upon it. As he watched it's lurching gait gradually pass out of sight after Garnag, he wondered just how much longer it could remain, before finally falling apart altogether... but at the rate things were going, he would not be surprised if it 'outlived' all of them

She turned to him then, studying him with another approving smile that made him look away shyly, focusing his large, dark eyes upon his own gloved hands or the floor it's self.

He was a tall handsome man and still quite young... perhaps as young as she had been when she had arrived at the Sanctuary, and seemed gradually to be growing paler in his surroundings, the longer he was spending time inside the Sanctuary and away from the sun above, as it was with a great many of them. There were a few deepened stress lines forming on his otherwise smooth boyish face, as though premature age would soon be settling in and overtaking him, his dark eyebrows were thin and all but relaxed, as anxious and shy... awed even to be in her presence as the rest of his features, his lips drawn taut and unconsciously inward. As far as his attire went, like his Orc brother, the Imperial Assassin was enveloped in his own worn down set of shrouded armour... which he wore proudly, a second skin of sorts. Gone were a great many of the buckles and straps that adorned her own set two century's prior, save twin matching straps at his slim waistline... and no longer was the outfit almost entirely composed of black enchanted leather, other than the bit of purple that had been upon her own. Scarlet, strong material lined certain sections of this dark body suit, including the area around his collar, his respective forearms endowed with scarlet bracers and gauntlets, and even lower still, a section running from his knees down to his long boots. The splattering collage of red and black, of blood and death, was truly _beautiful_ to behold on this young one.

Unlike his Orc brother however, and like she was now, his hood was drawn back, freely revealing the entirety of his features. Long, unkempt auburn hair parted at the forehead spilled down nearly to his shoulders, darkened to an almost blood red in the absence of torch light where they had stopped. Truly, he looked far less like an assassin then he did almost like an innocent child, as it had been for her... yet there was a subtle strength and beauty to this youthfulness that would serve him well in his yet to have unfolded endeavours.. and she knew, as she had known from the start, that Sithis had chosen His servant well... He always did. Now and again his wide eyes stole back up to her own, yet invariably lowered again as his hands moved about unconsciously, until she spoke, and his attention was entirely snared, as it seemed to be with every word she elicited. He seemed to watch with bated breath.

"You ask very deep question's of me, Cicero... no matter how simplistic _you_ might think them to be.", The Spectral Sister reassured him earnestly, and at this, a faint blush crept its way to the young man's face, yet the continued presence of her gaze kept him from averting his eyes again. "I _like _such questions, and appreciate them just as much. Often times, it is what is simple that is the most beautiful and capable of coming to understand another... for simple things are far too often overlooked in the search for the answers to life's abundance of complexity's."

"You are right, my sister", The Imperial replied swiftly in turn, voice lowered slightly. His eyes flickered, and although they remained on her, seemed to watch something other than her as well. "I have seen a great many simple things being utterly destroyed... such things are becoming scarce."

"Have you spoken to any of the others like myself? The others of the Void present within this Sanctuary, my family?"

"I- I've talked to that big guy in all the battle armour, the Orc once or twice for a little bit... Gogron something or other... and uh... the old Mistress of this Sanctuary, Ocheeva. Mostly you though, you know... you just seemed... well... I don't know how quite to..."

"Perhaps because I am the most like you?", The Spectral Sister suggested calmly, another faint smile forming, and knew at once she was right. "The youngest and newest of my time? Yes... it is only human for one to be drawn to others in whom they can see themselves. This is a strength, but can also, if allowed, be capable of becoming a limitation. You would do well to speaking to each of them, particularly the one in the long fancy coat, the Vampire Vicente Valtieri... he knew Lucien longer then the rest of us in his mortal... well, immortal life, to be accurate. He knew Lucien the deepest, and given your fascination with the exploits of the past Black Hands and the history of our Cheydinhal Family, he would be able to provide an exhilarating and passionate, vivid picture to you that not even _I _could... if you had but seen me when he had first related his stories to me. You would indeed be well placed to talk to them... and soon, while you still can."

This sentiment and suggestion did not go under appreciated by the young man, who nodded at once anxiously in agreement, but seemed unable to form any further words, or questions beyond his gratitude. Even as he felt this gratitude, there was something else in him she sensed... things gnawing slowly at his heart. The Spectral Sister peered into the contents of his mind, and sensed across the thoughts of the others she carried with her, the depths of what was troubling him, and addressed them at once, tilting her head unconsciously as she peered up into his eyes.

"I have thoroughly enjoyed these conversations immensely, my brother... yet I have noticed a striking pattern in them... that you voice only questions, as welcome as they are... and speak not a single shred of information about yourself... about what is occurring now within your daily life. I should wish very much that you would voice these."

The young man looked meekly back down at her and smiled nervously, uttering a slight harried laugh that carried off the walls about them, running a hand through his mane of fiery hair.

"What would I be able to tell you, Antoinetta?", The young man asked evasively, yet nevertheless found part of himself considering the query she had posed. "You already know everything there is to know about me... about what is happening and what's going to happen to me. You know more than I do of myself. I don't much care to speak of myself. What could I possibly say that would be of any interest to you?"

"Do not sell yourself so short, brother", She interjected at once, her manner nevertheless kindly as it was reproachful, the depths of the request silencing him. "It is not important _what_ I know already, in fact, it is a triviality, and unrelated to my question. What _matters _is that you find it in yourself to form what is troubling you into your own lovely words, and to present them aloud to each of us for consideration, for conference... as I have said, what is simple is often time's immeasurably beautiful. I would enjoy hearing your thoughts aloud, Cicero. As you yourself have asked of me... I return it to you. What is it that you feel?"

The Imperial Assassin was taken at the immense consideration of her words, and her manner... a glowing, optimistic manner that rose his spirits up from subdued depths effortlessly, and a manner he was growing rather used to, fond of, and at last, his eyes growing faintly distant and misted over, he gleamed forth a few of his concerns, of his thoughts, for the Spectral Sister to hear. His voice was naturally rather quiet, save the times he had pretended to be otherwise upon his contracts targets, yet was very much audible in their current proximity.

"Well... there's a war going on up there, _wars_, for that matter, between entire provinces and parts of the same provinces, and everyone who isn't dying or fighting seem to be losing their minds. The Dominion... the Thalmor, those bloody High Elves, think they have the right to intrude upon every other province in a way even this crumbling Imperial Empire, and our own Dark Brotherhood, has not in each of their long history's. They wish to force their false, lying ways upon everyone else, and _make_ them _accept _it... take away their free will... and as they have been doing this, bringing their wonton and terrible destruction to every and all land in Tamriel, city by city falling beneath their vast armies as the Legion tries in vain to stem this golden tide, they have been steadily eradicating every known vestige of the Dark Brotherhood, swallowing entire Sanctuary's with every other bit of land these Elves so parasitically crave, and feel themselves entitled to having. Entire _Family's_ have been destroyed... _my_ own Dark Family... my own of Bruma has followed this pointless pattern of extinction, and I am the sole survivor left of them. I... I see them in my dreams... my nightmares... but I don't know what they think... feel, as they watch me from the Void... I don't know if I'm doing the right thing. I feel like an actor on a stage... and I've forgotten my lines. It is not just in our Cyrodiil either... the devastation... it didn't even start here... it is truly everywhere, our Homes from High Rock to Black Marsh are meeting the same terrible end... dust and ashes, at the clutching palms of the insidious Thalmor. Now, as far as I know, there are only two remaining Sanctuary's in Tamriel... that of this Cheydinhal Home, and one cut off somewhere in the forests of Skyrim. I am helpless... my sister, helpless to change any of this, for I am but one man, a lowly underling who cannot resist the waves of destruction making it's way to us. Cannot avert it in any way. Destruction that has now claimed my dearest sister in this place, Andronica, severed limb from limb, the Listener herself, Alissane Dupre, burned to death, each of them murdered defending the Night Mother's _own_ crypt in Bravil, which too like everything else has fallen now. She is all we have left... and after two months, She has not yet named another Listener... has not risen from Her slumber to provide the direction she has always bestowed... the direction we _need _to continue."

"I... I don't understand why that is, for without our Listener we can barely extend our reach any further, our arm gradually being severed, our eyes removed and ears deafened. We were once the greatest empire of shadows upon the Nirn... the culmination of countless generations of Darkness... but we are now reduced to scurry about like mice... the people who require us losing faith and reliability upon us. I cannot begin to know what the Mother and Father have planned for everyone and everything remaining... their ultimate plan, and likewise, I do not know why it should be decided by the remaining Speakers that I am somehow worthy of the great position they are bestowing upon me, following the completion of my final, looming contract. They are each greater and far more capable than myself for the role... but they believe me worthy of becoming the Unholy Matron's very Keeper... Her _protector_. I am humbly honoured... but in truth... I am also afraid, Antoinetta... I am frightened, and so very ashamed of this fright... I fear not death, I have never feared as much since the Dark Brotherhood came to be the entirety of my world... yet I am frightened that this world of Darkness around me is tearing it's self apart at the seams with nothing I can do to prevent as much from occurring. Afraid that Light may actually come to overtake Darkness. I don't _know_ the Will of Sithis... perhaps this just how it must be, the calm in the storm the death of your time's Traitor brought to the later generations of Dark Family's, this calm now broken, and threatening to pitch us each towards the abyss. Who will be next? Garnag? Myself? Ponitus? I do not know... but if I die... it shall be carrying out what is expected of my Mother and Father, and surely I will meet again my loved one's in the Void... but I am still frightened... and uncertain now more than ever. "

"Yet... there is something else I must address.. I must ask again something of _you_... why is it I must speak with these others of the Void so soon... what is it that has you each so hurried, and vanishing so often back to the Void? When I arrived here, you each remained permanently here, as though you were as alive as myself... but you pass so often back to the Void... and seeing any of you has become a spontaneous occurrence... something _big _is going to happen soon... isn't it? "

Antoinetta Marie peered back at the troubled, disquieted yet perceptive young man, and wished her answer could have been different... that it could have been an infinitely more gentle one... a reassurance that everything would be alright... she wanted to hold him close, to tell him he had nothing to fear... but he did have reason for fear... he had every reason for it. Instead, she explained it carefully and as it was expected of her, carrying out her latest duty. Nevertheless, an ethereal, icy hand moved down to the Imperial's and she clasped it soothingly, a frigid, welcome sensation passing up over his entire arm and lifting the hairs even beneath the confining leather material. He felt the presence of the Void wash over him with the faint wisps of misty radiance swirling about her, sending every hair beneath his covered arms on end at the otherworldly chill... and if it was merely the sensation caused by being touched by the Void... he wondered wistfully then, more than ever, what it must be to genuinely reside there... beyond everything.

"Cicero... our responsibility's here on behalf of the Dread Father, at this time, have been to offer you and the others what comfort was possible, in light of your approaching role... a role that will be as difficult to you as Lucien's was to him, Lucien who himself will cross your path in the time that is to come. You will carry a very great burden upon becoming the Keeper... and upon this time when you don the mantle of Keeper... I, and the others... must leave the Sanctuary and the realm... must return to the Void until our next task is required of us by our Father. We may not keep you company in the time of your greatest difficulty's... your trial... may not distill the pain that will come by remaining present here and with you, no matter how much I _wish_ to do so. You must wade through the muddiness of your pain, your suffering, and take it into yourself as each has done on the Night Mothers behalf. It pains me to tell you this... but it simply must be. You must be transformed from the man even now you are already, and become something entirely different for as much your own sake as His. You must become more than a man. This is your particular Destiny, Cicero... I _cannot_ spoil it's entirety for you, and _will _not... you must undertake what comes to you, and bring your destiny to a close, however that might be, whichever form it takes to you, whatever it is that awaits you and your choices, as the Cheydinhal Family and then the Void too awaited me."

Cicero contemplated this wealth of information from the Void's messenger for quite some time in the corridor, as leisurely, tenderly, Antoinetta stroked his hand with every measure of her care, her affection, etched even into the few details of her face he could discern through her vibrancy. At last, he closed his eyes, and breathed quietly, resigned to his understanding, even as he did not yet truly. There was no other way. She knew what was best for him. The Parent's knew what was best for him... and he had to live with it. Accept it.

"_Yes_... I understand", Cicero murmured placidly, still gazing upon the floor. "I serve the Parents... and whatever it is that comes, I will do... will do whatever is required of me. Greater individuals than I have been given as much to see through... I mustn't shame them, offend all, by doing anything less than what is my duty. My life".

Antoinetta rose her other transparent hand to his face then, the all powerful, illuminating sensation of her swirling into each of his senses as she forced his eyes back up from the ground, and back to her. What little he could see of her features were sad, yet somehow pleased in unison, pleased with him, with his resolving himself for what was to come, and his courage. She slowly leaned closer forward, close enough to kiss him... and he was lost in the bottomless depths of her eyes.

"Speak to the others", She requested again of him warmly, her beautiful voice hushed as she peered as if through the layers of his Dark soul... for all he knew, she very well could have been. "Speak to them and gather each of their stories, their opinions... and let them settle within you as might a brew... there is still time. Let them and their perspectives strengthen you as they did I, and try to look back upon them when times grow darkest... look back upon our own conversations at the approach of these times. Do not give up upon your journals either, as I know you have been tempted... they are _invaluable_, for they are a _part_ of you. Savour this final contract you are to perform, and grasp it tightly to your heart. Let your experiences serve, as the Night Mother shall, as your constant companions. Promise me that you will do this, dear Cicero... _please_".

A promise had never been so easy to make for him.

"I... I promise, sister. I will. You're... you're leaving now, then?", Cicero asked of her hesitantly, knowing the inevitability of it, and he forced himself to draw from the reserves of his strength. He attempted to appear cool and collected, but knew he was failing as miserably as his Orc brother. "The others are staying because I haven't spoken yet to them?"

"I must go now yes, but no, I'm _not_ leaving altogether just yet", Antoinetta vowed to him quietly, glimpsing the relief in his eyes and feeling the quickening pulse of his heartbeat. "I promise I will return before your final contract, before you begin your new life, and we may share one last conversation together, after you have met each of the others... and at the dawn of your new beginning, we shall all part... yet invariably, we shall one day meet again... as you already know, and you will be rejoined with each of your fallen Brothers and Sisters. That is _my_ promise to _you_".

Cicero peered back down into her beautiful, glowing, otherworldly face... and he nodded, and in so doing, nodded to his Master. His appreciation and love shone through in his gaze, as she smiled... an action he himself mirrored in turn, standing relaxed, and happy for the first time in far too long, in the presence of the Conduit that was Antoinetta Marie.

"Thank you, Antoinetta", His voice whispered at last, lower than before, and lined with perhaps the sincerest gratitude he had ever held. "You have been to me in this short time like any of my Brothers or Sisters... I thank Sithis for having been able to know you in this life, to hear the great things you have told me... and I will honour you as I have all the others, in each of my action's."

"I already am honoured, merely speaking to you as I am... you nevertheless add to that so _very_ greatly", Antoinetta replied simply, not lowering her hold upon him, even as the moments grew closer to her departure, the outline of her large eyes growing ever more tender. Her glow brightened vibrantly another shade or two. "You needn't thank me for doing what I love to do, for helping those I love. You are my family... as much as my Cheydinhal Family is to me, and your Bruma Family is to you. They are proud of you, Cicero... so very proud... and are with you no matter what occurs. Of that you must never fear. We _all _are. Trust in me. I shall be seeing you again very soon, dear brother. Goodnight, child of Darkness and sweet dreams".

With this final vow, the Imperial Assassin bowed his head respectfully to the elder sister, the great being linked as he was not to the Void... and in a swirling of the unknown energy that comprised her, she faded from existence, as well as her loving touch relinquishing from himself, leaving him feeling nearly empty when her presence flitted away from him. The Assassin stood alone in the corridor for some time pondering a great many things... and regardless of her absence from his sight... she was right... he still felt her to a degree, as he did every brother and sister he had ever met... somewhere within the depths of his subconscious... or perhaps somewhere even _deeper_.

The Imperial's lips at last parted into a partial smile, and he found that he laughed again, forcing away the dark cloud that hung over him, regardless of whether it would return or not. It did not matter if it did... for that would be_ then_, and not _now_. There was all the difference in the world. He resolved to find the other spirits Antoinetta had spoken fondly of, and in so doing, keep his end of the promises made in that corridor. Recharged, the Assassin turned finally, to the doors she had stood before, that she had purposefully led him to, and respectfully, he rapped his gloved knuckles upon them, waiting for the preternatural spirit so often seen residing within the Private Quarters to invite him inside and bestow upon him further pieces to comprise the lining of his very soul.

Cicero was ready... Sithis help him. He was _ready._

_**The End**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>That's all folks :) As ever I will list my notes for the chapter before bidding you adieu:<br>**_

_**1) The Cycle: I realized early on I needed to bookend this story with a flash forward to the time of Skyrim, and touch upon the next state of turmoil the Brotherhood would inevitably find it's self caught up in. For quite some time following the events of Oblivion, the Dark Brotherhood thrived, and was forged into an all powerful entity under the leadership of The Hero of Kvatch... the brotherhood became perhaps greater then it had been before, and they were far more succsessful than prior times. Nonetheless, inevitably, as the Night Mother foretold, Sithis would deem it necessary for another lesson to be taught. As I've stated in another chapters notes, I had the idea that there is a history of cycles within the brotherhood, where there is a time of great power for the Brotherhood, but eventually they are brought to the brink, Sithis harvesting his own children basically, but leaving them just able to rise again back to their former strength, this time in the form of The Dovahkiin, like the Hero of Kvatch before him. Really, that idea alone is a story in it's self, how the brotherhood reached the brink all over again in that 200 year span, with the start of the Thalmor war. In my opinion, The Brotherhood served in the Imperial/Thalmor conflict, in all likelihood... recognizing the threat against themselves if the Elves had their way... as such, unoffically taking up arms with the Imperial Empire. They recognized that, although the Imperials were not trustworthy, and long time enemies, they did not seek to destroy the Brotherhood as the Elves intended to. I see the Elves as knowing the danger of the Brotherhood and intentionally seeking them out for destruction, and while the Brotherhood fought back effectively, it became a matter of simple overpowerment, army's rolling over top of their sanctuary's. That doesn't mean I see the Brotherhood outright working side by side with the Imperials, but I get a sense of them having an understanding. I can imagine about a million things related to that war and the Brotherhoods place in it that would make for an awesome story... which although tempting to write about, I admit I do not see myself necessarily getting there. I sought to tell my own Elder Scrolls tale, and ground it within a ceartain amount of chapters... combined with my life outside of writing, I would be far too stretched every which way to perform such a massive undertaking, be it writing my interpretation of Lucien's begginning in the Dark Brotherhood or how the Brotherhood played into the Thalmor/Imperial war. Still... maybe one day... and regardless of whether i do or don't, im sure it's either already been done by another or will be done :) such it is with such a huge fan community this series has. It just was fitting to me to end this tale by throwing you into the next Brotherhood conflict, which of course we all play out ourselves.  
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_**2) Arquen: There isn't much to note for her in this chapter of course, considering her arc ended in the last chapter... but I think she is dead by this point... however that played out, whenever that played out in the last 200 years is open to your own interpretation. Still... Lucien was right about her, and I will note again I feel she earned her Redemption, serving well at the Hero's side and not only rebuilding, but building upon the old foundations, turning the family into an even more immense empire of the night. I see Arquen as being in the Void, serving as the others do, and all is forgiven between her and Lucien. As for her child, Lucien's child, yet again, make up your own mind on that one ;). And by the way, recently I found online what her words of regret were in a piece of diolouge cut from the game regarding Lucien's death: **_

_**"I...I don't know what to say. How could we have been so wrong? Lucien tried to explain, but we wouldn't listen... but he is ceartainly in a better place now. Lucien Lachance's soul now serves Sithis in the Void. It is an honor he earned, and deserves."  
><strong>_

_**I can only imagine the vast majority of us wanting to respond: "BUT NOT LIKE THAT DAMN YOU!" xD still, what has been done is done, and she learns from it. It's better then nothing.  
><strong>_

_**3) The Hero of Kvatch/ The Listener: I am of the opinion that inevitably, late one rainy night he or she paid solemn visit to the Night Mother, and there in her all powerful, loving aura, in the aura of her and the Father, the Hero foretold to save the Brotherhood told their parents of the deal they had struck with Sheogorath, and what was to become of them self. Being who they were, of course, they knew already. The Hero was concerned for their potential misgivings of becoming a Daedric Prince... but the Parents were content with their child's decision... proud even to watch their greatest ascend above even the realm of mortals... and bade the Hero to set their affairs into order... to select a successor for the role of Listener when the time came for them to take the Mad God's throne, and identity. I see the exchange as somber on the part of the Hero's, believing they will never be able to see their lost brothers and sisters again, or parents, in taking Sheogorath's role... but the Parents know better. The Hero's soul was crafted in the darkness of the Void, and will inevitablly end up there in a few thousand years when the time comes for the Hero (now Sheogorath) to hand off the title to another, as it was handed to them. Whether it takes a long time for the hero to return to their home in the void and be reunited with their parents and loved ones, does not matter... it is inevitable... and in the mean time, I see them wishing their child (Mad God child) their best wishes, and in their own way watching over him even as he sits on his Throne in his realm of Oblivion... after all, Daedric Princes exist due to Sithis ;), he is everywhere in the universe at any given time. In fact, it may well have been orchestrated by Sithis, have been supposed to happen. Time must pass for the next savior and Hero of the Brotherhood to come along, in the form of their next great child, the Dovahkiin.  
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_**4) Cicero: My main point of focus for this chapter. In a sense, Cicero in my mind will serve a similar role as Lucien... in a sense, he is Lucien's successor. Cicero, Like Lucien, teaches the Hero of each game of the true Brotherhood, the old ways, how important their preservation is, as opposed to the corrupted brotherhood under Mathieu and Astrid's influence respectively. Basically, it it the same each cycle... with a specific important individuals serving the role of Savior, Teacher and Betrayer... im not saying ever cycle and pattern of destruction play out exactly down to the same detail, but there is a consensus to each of them... an ironic order to the chaos of Sithis. I read deeply into Cicero's Journals, a very well written bit of text courtesy of the great writers working on the elder scrolls franchise, and that journal alone gave me a vast picture and insight into what was occurring at the time, both within the brotherhood at large, their world, as well as Cicero himself and his eventual mind state. Cicero is a professional, and not yet insane, of course. I see this chapter taking place between the 25th of Morning Star, 4E 189, and the 30th of Morning Star, before he kills the Jester, and in so doing sets himself on the path to becoming what we see him to be by the time he makes our acquaintance in Skyrim. Now, I made Cicero a little timid and nervous in this one, which I felt worked in the company he shares... Cicero is at a very low point, and he knows it... his world is dying around him, his family is gone and so is nearly everyone he loved, but he does not have all of Lucien's coping skills, they are not the exact same. I used Cicero to show that history was repeating it's self all over again... and will always continue to do so... it happens everywhere in the Nirn, and the Brotherhood is no different. I wanted to give a glimpse of him before the madness, before his role of Keeper... of the man he was... slowly being torn asunder by magnitude of what was unfolding. War is hell, as is life in general at times, but at least we know he is a valuable part of the brotherhood's salvation, an exchange even he would feel worth his sanity.  
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_**5) Antoinetta Marie: I read a passage in Cicero's journal that mentioned the Cheydinhal Sanctuary still had... ghosts of purification haunting the halls. Perhaps I took it too literally, considering he may well have just been referring to the history of the Sanctuary. Then again, perhaps not, considering we in Skyrim find Spectral Brothers in the Dawnstar Sanctuary, and the fact the Lucien Lachance's spirit aides the Dovahkiin, I didn't think it by any means too much of a stretch of the imagination to consider that the spirits of the past began appearing in the Cheydinhal Sanctuary at some point, sent to render aid to their brethren in whatever way possible... be it defending the Sanctuary or providing advice and comfort to the brothers and sisters who yet lived. Again, the circumstances of the crisis were different in a million factors compared to the Bellamont crisis... this is one such factor. Of course, in this chapter Antoinetta provides the latter, comfort. I saw much of her in Cicero, after getting so deeply into her head... they were both so new to their respective family's, outsiders who had experienced tragedy, and naturally, Cicero was drawn to this attractive, powerful woman of the Void... for many reasons ;). Antoinetta learned much in her time amongst the living, in her year or so in the Cheydinhal family... and she learned even more in the Void, and is passing on her story to Cicero, giving him a different perspective of life... advice in a sense. She learned much from Vicente, of the importance of gathering others views, their life lessons and stories, and incorporating them into ones selves... doing as much can transform you into an entirely separate individual. I am reminded of a quote by the great literary character Atticus Finch from To Kill A Mockingbird... "You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view—**until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.**" That's something that stuck with me through this writing. You see, in life there are so many different factors that make each of us up... that make us unique, make us who we are... each factor is important... especially how others see life and the world at large... Vicente knew this, Lucien knew it and now Antoinetta knows this, and is passing on more pieces and knowledge to Cicero, as the other spirits will do, until the time comes for them to leave him with his burden, for him to try his own strength against the momentous task that lays ahead of him over the years to come. Ultimately, Cicero is doomed to madness, as it is supposed to be... but don't think for a second that means what Antoinetta and the others are doing is useless... they help form him into the Cicero we love, and what he learns from them he carries to the Void, when it's his turn. He is being supported from beyond the grave by Brothers and Sisters he never met among the living, generations behind him... as he perhaps will do himself for the living one day when he reaches the Void. I felt Antoinetta to be the ****only**_**_ choice in this scene as a conduit to the Void for Cicero, not only because the two have so much in common, but I wanted to show her development , character growth from the time she entered the family. She began as a blank slate, but she learned, as we all do, served as the outside perspective to the family initially, and became something more, greater then she was... it has carried over. She still carry inside her traces of the mad excited young woman we meet in oblivion of course, but she is older, more powerful and matured in both manner and speech (her referring to Sithis as he who walks behind the rows is a reference to children of the corn by stephen king by the way, another of those things you find as a writer fits)... changed, as time invariably does to all things... as Vicente himself knew, and sought to imprint such a lesson upon Antoinetta. Teaching really does carry forward, from one to another, especially in the dark family's. I wanted to give Antoinetta more closure, as I closed the story it's self, by giving her an important role, sort of bringing the story full circle on the child Lucien brought into the fold... really, I hope I gave everyone here a measure of closure, yet the sense that things will continue on... it never ends. Which brings me to my next and last point ;)_  
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_**6) The Dark Guardian: Yup xDD, even he, or rather it perhaps depending on your view, gets some closure. Once an insubordinate brother, then a loyal servant courtesy of Lucien's masterful Necromancy... and in my opinion, the last 'living' thing in the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. Eventually, Cicero leaves of course with the Mother, sealing the Sanctuary behind him... leaving this fellow still pacing in the pitch darkness of the tomb. In a sense, this one time disloyal brother outlives it all, the family's and a certain rat we knew as Schemer xD. I thought it was a nice little touch, if a bit silly, but still. That sums the dark brotherhood in a sense, doesn't it? It isn't all serious and grim, there is fun to be had... their own form of fun admittedly. Maybe when the Dark Brotherhood reaches full power again after Skyrim, when the Cheydinhal Sanctuary is reopened under new management, a new Speaker and family, he'll still be there, ready ****to serve the next generation... like I said, some things never end... other than this story of course xD.****  
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_**And speaking of which, here we are at last people... the end. Any reviews or comments or questions, anything at all, are of course always welcome... more than welcome, appreciated. I started this story at a bad time in my life, when I was alone in a great many ways... but I am happy to end it in a good time of my life... things have been going well for me for some time now, and with luck will continue to. While it is undoubtedly unpleasant to go through such things, such a time of one's life, as I can well attest, it cannot be denied that creativity can yet thrive even in the midst of such, through perseverance. I leave this story better than when it all began... I leave satisfied I have done my part for Elder Scrolls, and the Dark Brotherhood. Thank you all again for the support :), and may you walk always in the shadow of Sithis, my Brothers and Sisters. **_

_**The honor has been mine.  
><strong>_

_**-Antihero276  
>January 7th, 2013<br>**_


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